


Redemption of the Lost Savior

by Areanna_Whitewolf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Red Dead Redemption 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Morgan Lives, BAMF Harry Potter, Character Death, Character Death Fix, F/M, Lemons ? ( Maybe), M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Sirius Lives, Slash, Were Creature Harry Potter, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2019-10-21 14:10:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17644313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areanna_Whitewolf/pseuds/Areanna_Whitewolf
Summary: "Stranger in a strange land" .........That doesn't even begin to describe the situation Harry Potter finds himself in. The infamous Potter luck has struck again.Now, because of lost temper and misguided magic, Harry finds himself in a place that shouldn't be, but is. He wakes in a land unknown, to people who shouldn't exist, and to the knowledge that he probably won't be getting home.Lost in the wild west setting of 1899, Harry knows he is in for the ride of his life. With gunslingers, rebels, untamed animals, and Pinkertons all around him, he has nothing but his wits, magic, and an unruly gang of misfits to guide him.That is....if he doesn't get himself killed first.





	1. Stranger in the Snow

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this idea for several reasons. 
> 
> The first is the idea just hit me between the eyes one day and wouldn't leave me alone. 
> 
> The second is nothing like this crossover exists anywhere. Believe me I checked. 
> 
> And third I want to see how Harry would survive completely out of his element. 
> 
> That being said....there are MAJOR GAME SPOILERS. If you haven't played the game completely through ( I did like four times) Then I suggest you turn around and finish it. Otherwise this gives everything away. 
> 
> I will be adding in relationships later. It's simply too soon to decide. 
> 
> Also we are going to completely ignore any relationship Harry had with Ginny. I never liked the pairing in the first place.
> 
> That said...enjoy, comment, and keep my muses fat and happy. They may actually get back to continuing my other fics ( Glares at the muses mumbles angrily) Lazy sons of b*tches. 
> 
> ( Smiles widely at the screen) I hope you like it.
> 
>  
> 
> \----------------------------------

Green eyes slid open as chapped lips emitted a groan of confused pain. Rubbing a hand through messy hair, a nineteen year old Harry Potter slowly sat up and used his senses honed in war to gather information about his surroundings. Immediately he knew he wasn't where he remembered he should be. For one, it was too cold to be his North London apartment. Rain was common any time of the year, but it was still too warm to explain the snow that he could smell. The second thing he noticed was how his magic was still crackling weakly in the air. It was a sure sign that he'd recently had a large burst of it, most likely by accident. The third was the noise of horses he heard near by, as subtle as they were, coupled with the lack of any honking horns or the noise of pissed off motorists screaming through his window. 

Harry knew he was a long way from home. 

Which begged the question: Just where in the hell was he?!

Checking his person to see what he had on him, he immediately sighed in relief. His wands, coin purse, potion's kit, magically charged mp3 radio, emergency travel tent and combat boots had stayed with him in transit. Thank Merlin he hadn't bothered to take off his backpack before he settled on the couch in front of the telly. His battle robes were definitely in tatters, though. The several large holes and rips gave proof of his rather rough entry into wherever the hell this was.

Standing up and giving a stretch to work out his stiff muscles, he then checked his still intact hip satchel. Another sigh of relief followed when he felt his shrunken photo album, meager food rations, more potions, his journal, and the likely busted remains of his godfathers pocket watch. Walking over to the only place to sit in what looked to be a log cabin about to fall apart, he finally started to collect himself. After all, this wasn't the first time he apparated or Floo-ed to an unknown location and any place was better then Knockturn alley.

He gave a little whistle he hoped would be answered swiftly. The sweet melodic chirping he heard a minute later made his heart soar. His shiny feathered Snigget bird, Twilah, landed lightly on his shoulder, her feathers bristling with the sudden cold around her. He felt the nuzzling of his tiny familiar and nodded to her.

"There you are, girl. I'm glad you made it. We can't have us getting separated in the middle of no where. Well girl, lets take a gander of where we've popped to, shall we?"

As he looked around him and tried to piece together how he found himself in the middle of no where, an unmistakably recognizable voice came from a distance. The minute he heard it his eyes opened comically wide. It was a voice of a man he'd been hearing for weeks. It was also the voice of a man that shouldn't exist outside the game console Hermione set up for him mere months ago. That deep, charismatic, slightly scratchy voice was all too clear and real to be anyone else. It reminded Harry of what chocolate melting over a black blazing fire would sound like. 

"Miss Grimshaw, Mister Pearson, start getting this place packed up. We have those bonds in our pocket for now, but the Pinkertons won't be far behind with the snows thawing. Hosea found us what he reckons is a nice spot to relocate. We have to be ready to move by tomorrow morning the latest. So work it out and get everyone moving."

As that rather sensual voice rang loud and clear, Harry began to piece together just where he was and what could have happened. Just a short month ago he'd been completely taken over by a video game he played on his days off. Red Dead Redemption 2 was a ready relief from his constant battles against what was left of the Death Eater faction. It was a place to escape to when the burdens of his past woke him up in the dead of night. The easy setting of the late 18th century, with it's long horse rides and dead eye shooting, became his guilty pleasure and addiction. 

But in doing the play-through for the third time, he got exceedingly unhappy with the way it began to fall apart all over again. Between Dutch's decent to madness, Arthur's battle with Tuberculosis, and Micah's betrayal, Harry couldn't help but feel somehow disgruntled by the end of chapter six. Watching Arthur's death all over again had him snapping in rage. Right now it seemed silly to get so emotionally invested in a game, but at the time, it made perfect sense. No matter how he tried, he couldn't save the main protagonist from how the game developers planned the main story-line to go. Harry had let his emotions get the better of him, saying something no powerful, angry witch or wizard should say. To make matters worst, he'd yelled it out loud as his magic swelled around him. 

_"Merlin's bloody bullocks. I wish I could change it all!"_

Like always, his magic listened unfailingly. It did exactly what he'd asked it too. Hermione would be laughing right now if she could be here. After all, it was his constant need to save people that seemed to get him into trouble time and time again. 

This situation was no different. In his righteous anger, he really only wanted to save the misinformed Van Der Linde gang from it own destruction. To see two proud men fall from grace so readily because of the evilness of the third hearkened too much to reality for him. It was Dumbledore (Dutch), himself ( Arthur), and Voldemort ( Micah) all over again.

For all it's Pinkertons and gunslingers, Micah was the real antagonist. A terror to himself and those around him. Like Voldemort, he depended on fear, confusion and chaos to get his own way. Whispering into just the right ears to watch people fall in line around him. In a rebel gang where loyalty was the heart that kept them all together, Micah played an over-stressed Dutch like a flute. Harry had been so pissed the first time he played the main story line when the little rat had managed to get away. John killing him in the epilogue just seemed so....anti-climatic; an afterthought to true justice. Arthur was the one who deserved the right to claim that vengeance. Sadly it had been stolen from him by sickness. 

Well not this time around. Harry would see his wish come into fruition. In his heart Harry was more healer then fighter. But after all he'd been through, he was first and foremost a consummate warrior tried and true. He'd been fighting against people like Micah Bell his whole life and he had no intentions of stopping now. Game or no game, strange or not, he was here now. He was determined to see his new found mission completed. Somehow he would save them all from the little weasel intent upon destroying them. Even if it meant he might die trying. Which of course, knowing his luck, he probably would. 

First, though, he needed a horse. Lucky for him, with a near encyclopedic knowledge of the game's map, he knew just where to get one of the best in the game for free. All he had to do was envision Lake Isabella hard enough to get there. So, after a few general spells to keep him warm and dry, he issued an order to his familiar to stay put before apparating away. He would come back later tonight. 

After all, how hard could taming one horse be?

\--------------------------------------------

Harry wished he could beat himself to death for being so stupid. Of course he'd forgotten the twice-cursed wolves that liked to hunt around the same frozen lake. Though he'd managed to claim and bond with the pure white mare, the scent of her fear when he first approached drew what was probably the largest pack of wild wolves in the area on his ass. Ten of which were currently trying to run him down. Couple that with the recent snows and the lean pickings, and he was nothing but a warm t-bone steak running in the middle of no where. 

Now, with the horse under him panting heavily and running out of steam, he could barely make out the packed wagon in the distance that signaled his approach to the camp. He clutched his bleeding wand arm to his chest, the upper half of which was nearly bitten clear through to the bone. The claw marks down his chest hurt like hell too. In his excitement of trying to find the perfect horse, he'd made a terrible blunder of not checking over everything in his satchel. The healing potions he'd had in there must of smashed from the massive burst of magic it took to get him here. Now,between the magical drain and blood-loss, Harry could barely stay upright on the running mare beneath him. 

The wolves behind him gave out another snarling howl and nipped at his horse's back legs. With a sudden jolt and a loud whinny, his new horse bucked him clean off her back, the last of her stamina finally running it's course. The wolves gathered around him as his nervous mount hopped over one and proceeded to canter towards the silent camp. Now he was on his own. Weak, drained, and near freezing, he stood up the best he could, ready to do battle. After all, Voldemort had nearly killed him plenty of times. What were the chances that wild beasts would succeed where the powerfully evil Dark Wizard could not. 

But as one wolf latched on to the back of his left leg, he screamed with the startling truth. Nature was a cruel mistress sometimes. Playing the game of chance with her, regardless of who you were, was foolish. It was a game you never won. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

In the semi warm confines of one of the few log cabins left standing in the abandoned mining camp, Arthur Morgan's eyes snapped open suddenly. He couldn't say what, but something wasn't right. Sitting up, he automatically grabbed his sawed off shotgun lying next to his pillow. A chilling howl on the wind crept down his spine as he stood up and put on his fur lined boots. The growling snarls that followed had him tossing on his coat and putting his cattleman revolver on his hip. That's what woke him; Wolves were too close to camp. The damned mangy beasts probably followed Marston off the fucking mountain. Walking out of the tiny bedroom, his head snapped to the west as a blood-curdling scream of a stranger rang through the air. Shit! Someone was out there! He was already bursting out the door as he called for Dutch. 

Stepping outside, he realized he wasn't the only one woken by the noise. Charles, Javier, Hosea, Lenny and Bill were also standing outside, clutching their guns as they ran towards the horses. He mounted his newly acquired horse as Dutch spoke behind him. 

"If it's a Pinkerton or one of Colm's little stooges, we'll have to let the wolves finish what they started. I know it isn't pretty, but we don't need that kind of trouble right now. If it's anyone else, we save them. Stick close and aim true, gentlemen. Lenny, stay behind and tie up that horse. Now come on, we've got wolves to hunt. HYAH!"

Arthur kicked his horse into gear, keeping pace with Dutch. As they approached the snarling, they finally made out the growling mass of wolves nipping at a person who looked too small to be a fully grown adult. Although making a valiant effort beating back the wolves with what appeared to be a large stick, they could all see his strength was failing. One wolf laid dead, and another was limping, but that didn't attest for the blood soaked snow they could see under the now kneeling form in front of them.

Charles struck first, using his good hand to take out his tomahawk. With a war cry reminiscent of his native forefathers, he flung the weapon through the air, catching one animal in the head dead center. The others whipped themselves into action, each aiming carefully to make sure no one hit the wounded stranger lying on the ground by now. 

Finally one of the last wolves whimpered, running off. Arthur's pistol bullets nearly caught it in the back leg. But it was Dutch who saved the strange person from certain death. The snarling beast about to bite through the stick lodged against the person's throat was shot dead between the eyes before it could deliver what would have surely been a killing blow. As silence fell, Arthur slipped off his horse and approached what he could now tell was a male form shaking in the snow. The stranger collapsed completely by the time he reached him. 

Kneeling down, he took the stick and pried it from the limp death grip it was in. The stranger, which he could now see was a fairly young man, was unconscious. Judging by the wounds and blood Arthur could see, it was a wonder he'd stayed upright as long as he did. 

"Dutch, this ain't no Pinkerton. Lord's above, he looks younger then Lenny. What the hell's a boy doing all alone up here. First the fuckin' O'Driscolls, then Mrs. Adler, now a damn boy. We seem to be surrounded by folk wantin' to get themselves killed up here."

Dutch, having dismounted by now, knelt in the snow beside him. 

"Christ, you aren't wrong. He's too young to be out here by himself. Thankfully the cold is slowing the bleeding. But he won't live much longer if we don't get him inside. I'll carry him if you get our horses and his pack for us. Damned wild mongrels must've snapped the shoulder hold when they bit through his right arm. Nasty animals, the lot of them."

He turned to the rest of the men and barked commands as he situated the boy carefully in his arms. 

"The rest of you I want on lookout. Light fires on all sides of the camp and keep the horses tethered up in the middle. Javier wake up Mr. Pearson, I want you both to take the East. Bill get Micah up and guard the North and South. Charles get Tilly, give her a gun and the both of you guard the West. Hosea, before you get inside, wake Miss Grimshaw and Reverend Swanson. This boy needs sewing and patching up. But please remember Hosea, I don't want you out long. That cough of yours is nasty and this cold is only going to make it worse. The rest of you can take turns resting and warming up, but I don't want anyone to stay sleeping for long. With all this blood and the scent of fresh kill near by, we have no way of knowing when or if those beasts will be back. Not to mention bears and cougars. That cursed snow storm has everything hungry up here."

Making sure he had the stranger secured properly in his arms, Dutch set a fairly swift stride towards camp, the others trailing behind him. He didn't know why or for what reason, but the sudden and startling protectiveness in his mind took a hold of his heart. Whoever this young boy was, regardless of where he came from, he mustn't be left to die. A determined, grim expression settled over the consummate leader's face as he looked down at the prone form in his arms.

Whoever this boy was, he was going to live. Dutch wouldn't allow it to be any other way.


	2. Proving One's Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes up finally and begins to slowly integrate himself into the gang. But not everyone is so accepting. And there are many unanswered questions just waiting for an Answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter sort of hops right into it quickly, but I figured Harry had to prove himself quickly if he wants to get his self-imposed mission started. 
> 
> I also forgot to state in chapter one that I aged down some of the members of the gang. Hosea is 5 years younger, Dutch and Arthur are 10 years younger. It will work for what I have in mind later in the story.
> 
> The reason Dutch seems so ready to accept Harry is what I noticed in the back story of the gangs past. Dutch takes in orphans and trains them up like this. Harry, being without family and alone in the world, would be a prime target for someone like Dutch. It won't always be like this, but right now Dutch sees Harry as the perfect asset to use in his plans. 
> 
> \-------------------------------

For two days and nights, Harry slept soundly in the back of one of the moving wagons, healing slowly from his ordeal. The gang grew ever more curious about the strange man child in their mist. After all, the nightmares he seemed to have at least three times a night was bad enough. But when Reverend Swanson pointed out the belt and whip marks all over his upper body, they knew they were dealing with a troubled and life-hardened young man. Though he was small of stature and rather lean, wiry muscles gave proof that he was no slouch. To have the stubbornness to keep fighting while bleeding so badly; It sure took balls and way more courage then even some in the gang had. And the way he fought a big pack in the snow with just a large stick for a weapon spoke of a man that didn't give up easily. Arthur saw stronger men piss themselves with two or three wolves biting at them, never mind ten at once. Hell, Marston had been in the business nearly as long as Arthur, and it'd only taken one of the angry beast to nearly kill him. To take on a pack of ten starved wolves and still be alive....Yes, the stranger was definitely a person of interest in many a mind.

Poor Dutch was still smarting from his lost fight against meanest, tiniest two winged creature any of them had ever seen outside of insects. The midget bird, as it was being called, insisted on riding with their new passenger. He'd apparently made the mistake of trying to wave at it to make it go away. His face became a bullseye for the crazy hummingbird. The leader now sported eleven tiny scabs on his nose and a secret he knew the rest of the troops would be razzing him about for months. Dutch Van Der Linde, gunslinger and leader of a years strong crew, lost a duel with a bird no bigger then most butterflies. No amount of glaring would shut the mouths of his two main men who were still laughing at him behind his back. 

Harry was oblivious to it all as his body mended and his magic replenished. It wasn't until the third morning, just as they were coming into Horseshoe Overlook, that he finally began to stir. The wagon came to a thumping stop as he mumbled out words and suddenly sat up, his mind still clinging to the strange dream he'd been having.

"No please, Mr. Hosea, not the frilly underwear. I'll never play poker with you again!!!"

Dutch chuckled as he looked at the back of the covered wagon.

"Well a fine good morning to you. The mighty Wolf Fighter finally returns to the land of the living. You are one brave and foolish young man, I'll give you that. Which means you'll fit right in with the rest of us. I can say with certainty _'Brave and Foolish'_ is our family motto at this point. You can rest easy though. I doubt anyone would force you into frilly underwear, my stubborn friend. Not after witnessing your fight with that wild, feral pack of mongrels the other day. I am Dutch Van Der Linde, by the by. Leader of this band of misfits known as the Van Der Linde Gang. Could I have your name please?"

Harry hissed quietly as his right arm screamed in pain at him. It was all coming back to him again. Clearing his head, he rubbed the dried, blood-stained bandages on his chest and drank from the canteen of water next to him before he spoke. 

"Hello, Mister Van Der Linde. My name is Harold Jamison Potter-Black. It's a pleasure to be alive enough to meet you. Thanks for that, by the way. A lot of people would have left me for dead. I only have one request. I ask that you call me Harry. Everyone does."

Dutch nodded, though he knew Harry couldn't see it. 

"Please call me Dutch, Harry. But I must admit, your accent has me curious. You are clearly an Englishman, and your full name suggests you come from money. What on earth were you doing so far from home, stuck in the middle of a snow storm with no weapons and no warm clothes to speak of?"

Harry chuckled painfully, looking down as he finally shuffled forward and landed with a light hop on the ground. Standing up carefully to steady himself, he grimaced as he saw a new coating of fresh blood soak through the bandage on his right upper arm. That meant he likely tore the stitches he could feel in his skin. 

"Trust me, Sir, if I knew how I ended up on the snow covered mountains of the Grizzlies, I'd tell you. Suffice to say I got turned around somewhere and ended up where I shouldn't have been in the first place. As far as riches are concerned, all I'll say is this. Any money I may have had was gotten by the death of everyone I loved. My parents died when I was a baby and my godfather died when I was fifteen. Three years after he found me finally. Believe me when I say I left most of their money in England and won't be going back to it any time soon. I would gladly be poor if it meant gaining them back. I have enough money to get by if I have to, but I'm no rich man. For all I've lost in my nineteen years of life, I am poorer then the poorest man you ever knew."

Dutch walked up beside Harry, giving him one gentle pat on the back.

"That is a tragic story indeed. You'll find no shortage of tragedy in our collective pasts. We've all lost something or someone we once loved. But as sad as our lives might of been, it shapes us all into the better men and women we hope to be in the future. To the rest of the world, we'll always be nothing more or less then criminals, bandits and thieves. But at our core we're simply a group of people loyal to on thing; Freedom. Freedom we believe every person deserves. For all our thieving, we are an honorable bunch. Each of us only wants to keep the world the way it was. Where no man has a right to tell another how to live his life. 

"Big banks and growing corporations are squeezing the individual of his or her birthright. Rules and regulation set down by the ever encroaching government is trying to trick the masses into being perfect little slaves that only know how to do what they're told to. And that is what we fight against. Now, I'll admit, sometimes lives are lost in the fight. Lives we didn't mean to snuff out but did, by accident or design. We try to prevent innocents from getting in the way, but we can't always. It's an uphill battle my friend, but one we're determined to win. Now it's your turn to decide whether or not you can be a part of that fight. Will you help us, Mr. Potter-Black?"

Harry took a deep breath and let it out, rolling the thoughts around in his head. Finally coming to a decision, he spoke. 

"Dutch Van Der Linde, I would be happy to help such a cause. But I've conditions to my joining that I'm afraid must be put first, before I can accept full membership."

Dutch put a cigar to his mouth, puffed a couple times and gestured outwardly. 

"Well then, lets hear these conditions and see if they can be rectified."

Harry stood up as tall as he could, seeing a couple of members gathering around to hear what he had to say. 

"I don't kill for sport. And I've no intentions of starting now."

"Of course not my fine young friend. I completely understand. I would never ask such a thing of anyone here"

Harry backed up and looked the leader straight in the eyes. 

"No, Mr. Van Der Linde, I don't think you do. I've seen what leaders with shaky morals can do in the name of the greater good. I know I don't look it, but I've been in war at the command of such a man before. Not here in America, but in England, where I came from. I fought against injustice and prejudice, and I've no plans to become a uncaring killer. Now, I understand in your line of work, pointing a gun might seem the fastest way to get someone to listen. But it's also the fastest way to get caught. By what little I heard in the last couple of days I've been with you, you already have trouble following you. I've heard something about a place called Blackwater and men called Pinkertons. I gather they are a sort of police force. Blood split leaves wide trails on the ground when you lose focus and make mistakes."

At first Dutch wanted to pull his gun on the hopeful new recruit. But he stayed his hand. Like it or not, the stranger had a point. That mess-up in Blackwater would haunt them for months.

"No one is perfect, Harry. We all make mistakes. Surely you must know that."

Harry nodded.

"Yes, I understand that all too well. Believe me, I've had my lapses in judgement. Times when I didn't think before I charged in. It's always gotten me in some big bloody trouble too. I know the cost of hasty decisions. But I also know how careful planning and strategic thought can save a situation that turns sour. I try to save innocent lives instead of destroying them. You want to make money, which I completely understand. No one likes to be broke. But that means picking the right targets. If someone is poor, taking the last bit of his money isn't going to help any. You want to make sure your work is lucrative, you have to select your targets carefully."

Harry paused, trying to ignore the blood now dripping down his arm. 

"First, you have to change the way you look. By the time these Pinkerton's do catch up with you, and believe me they will, they'll be plastering your faces all over every town they walk into. So if you don't want them to find you, you have to trick them into thinking you aren't who they know they're looking for. Sometimes all it takes is a good shave, a hair cut, and a change of clothes to make a difference. Second is your bandanna. No matter who you rob, always cover your face. And never rob two people with the same mask. You have to make sure that you leave no trail. Different clothes, different hats, different masks. Keep the masses guessing. The key to not getting caught is to make sure you leave no trail."

Dutch nodded in contemplation.

"I like your thought process son, but all of this takes green. And any money we could ever hope to have we had to leave behind in Blackwater. If we try to go back....."

Harry grinned. This is where he knew he was going to hook the leader. All he had to make sure to do is keep one step ahead of Micah. 

"Who said anything about _YOU_ going into Blackwater. I'll go myself. They don't know me from any other stranger on the street. I'll go at night, sneak into town and wait until the changing of the guard. Then all I have to do is grab the money and sneak back out. No one will suspect anything."

Micah finally spoke up, just as Harry knew he would.

"You'll take the money and rob us blind. Dutch this kid thinks we're stupid. Not a chance in hell, cowpoke."

Harry shook his head.

"And you are..."

Arthur spoke for him, knowing that Micah would only drive the kid into further anger.

"That's Micah Bell, the man who thinks he knows everything. But from what I've been hearing, he is part of the reason Blackwater went so bad in the first place."

Micah went to make a snide remark, but Dutch spoke first, not interested in hearing bickering right now.

"We really need that money. It'll go a long way in helping us with our future plans. But as much as I don't like it, Micah has a point. How do we know you won't take that money and run away with it?"

Harry sighed, leaning against one of the trees around him. 

"You want to know if you can trust me. I understand perfectly. I didn't plan on doing this so soon, but honestly I don't see any other way."

He pulled over his heavy, Gringots issued coin purse on his hip, which held his wallet filled with muggle money as well. Collectively he had 5000 thousand gallons and another two thousand in muggle cash on him at the moment. Not enough to make it on his own forever, but just enough to prove his point. 

"I told you I left most of my inheritance behind in England. But I was smart enough not to leave it all. I don't need your money for myself. I have my own."

Sticking his hand in the bag at his hip, he pulled out a generous handful of gallons. A quick wandless spell made them look like muggle gold coins proper to the time period. Taking Dutch's hand carefully with his bad arm, he poured the lot into it. It was only fifteen or so coins, but it was enough to prove his point. 

Dutch reached for one with his empty hand and flipped it around, putting it between his lips for a good bite. It was pure gold alright.

"My god, son, you're just going to give this to me. Surely you don't have enough to last you a lifetime in that bag."

Harry shrugged.

"You're right; I don't. But I have enough to last me a good year before I have to worry. I've no need to steal from you, Sir. Money can't really buy me what I truly want. Good allies and better friends can't be brought with all the gold in the world. I'm not greedy enough to think that stealing from you will do me any good." 

He snarled low in his throat as he saw Micah try to snatch the bag from his hip.

"However SOME people are too careless and stupid to care how greedy they get. Touch anything on my person with the intention of stealing it from me, Micah, and I promise you won't have time to grab your gun before I kill you."

Micah stood back, raising his hands with a lazy, smug grin on his face. 

"Understood. I was just seeing if you were paying attention. After all, you have to be smart and quick if you want to run with us. Although, I got to say, you don't look too threatening with that arm bleeding all over the place."

Miss Grimshaw was about to jump into action but Harry held up his good hand to stop her. Injured or not, he had a point to prove. 

"You think I'm too weak to stop you. I get it. I'm small and lean, not to mention injured. I've been told that I've been too weak before, by bigger men then you."

He used seeker reflexes to grab Micah by the front of his shirt near the collar, only using a small feather light charm to help lift him up. The trained Luetenant of the war on Voldemort came to the forefront as Harry's suddenly much deeper voice spoke quietly, but with absolute authority. 

"I may look like a child, Micah Bell, but do not be fooled by my outward appearance. I haven't been a child for a very long time. I was taking down greater men then you by the tender age of 11. While other children were busy dreaming of fun and games, I was busy running for my life as people old enough to be my father shot at me with intent to kill. Let me assure you, I could kill you for your stupidity and sleep better at night for it. DO NOT make the mistake of toying with me, SIR! Because I can promise you without a doubt, it'll be the last mistake you ever make."

Harry tossed him hard to the ground. 

"DO WE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER, MR. BELL!"

For the first time in his life, Micah was too shaken to say anything. He simply nodded and backed up without a word. 

Dutch placed a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder, trying to calm the angry young man down. With all the talking going on, he'd forgotten just how badly wounded their young charge was. 

"Easy son. I promise you, I'll make sure our fine Mister Bell keeps himself well away from you. We'll talk more later. Right now, you need that arm fixed up. By the look of things, you probably tore the stitches when you lifted yourself from the wagon. We'll get the good Reverend to slow the bleeding for the moment. There is a Doctor in a town called Valentine, which is not too far from here. He'll likely do a much better job at sewing that arm then any of us will. Why don't you sit for now and rest while we get your horse saddled. We'll get you seen too shortly. I'll have Hosea and Arthur flank you. They need to go into town anyway. Arthur's got to get himself a better horse and Hosea has that big black beast of stallion to sell off as well. Besides, you need new clothes and some decent guns anyway. You know how to shoot son?"

Harry bit his lip, thinking carefully of his answer.

"I was taught to shoot with English weapons. But when it comes to American guns, I'm afraid I'm a novice. I learn fast though, so as soon as I feel a little better, I'll begin training with them. You have my word on that." 

Dutch nodded as he helped their newest member over to an area where he could sit down and be tended to. What he didn't notice were the three pairs of eyes following them as he introduced Harry to the rest of the gang. 

Micah said nothing, but on the inside he was seething in rage. He'd show that little upstart just what happened when you messed with the wrong cowboy. Even if it took him the rest of his days, he'd get his revenge. 

Arthur looked at the new arrival with something akin to reverence. He'd been trying to change Dutch's mind about how they operated since they left Blackwater. In five minutes, this stranger seemed to accomplish what he couldn't seem to. Perhaps, with some luck, they'd get back to the way things used to be before Micah was taken into the group. 

Charles Smith stayed silent through the entire encounter, keeping his thoughts to himself. But inwardly his head was full of questions. Just who was this stranger really and where had he come from? How on earth had he managed to lift a man near twice his weight so easily? Why had he been fighting in a war so young, especially a war not one of them heard about? But perhaps the most startling question all was......

 

....What in the hell was a wizard doing out in the middle of no where in the first place? 

Yes, Charles Smith had many questions. And come hell or high water, he was going to find the answers to each one of them.


	3. A 'Saving People' Thing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry saves more then one person when he's in town, and then drops a truth bomb on Dutch he has no choice but to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the chapter is sort of all over the place. Forgive me for that, but with the game storyline, time was of the essence in chapter two before the event that started with "Money lending and other sins" quest. I felt I had to nip that in the bud before continuing. As far as the rest....it had to happen some time....why not now.  
> \-----------------------------

Harry walked into the street again after getting his wounds re-sewn by the doctor. He grumbled at the tight brace fixed to his upper arm to keep him from reopening the stitches. Dr. Petasin was very strict about the care and treatment he would now have to follow. The arm could afford to have limited movement, but it still needed to be rested often. It was like listening to Madam Pomfrey barking out demands in the hospital wing. He remembered being a field healer during the war and having the self same attitude. You had to be firm with your patients and give clear order. If you were too lenient with them, you'd only see them back the next day with a worst problem. It just wasn't any fun when you were on the receiving end of such orders. Maybe, regardless whether doctor, healer, or nurse all people in the medical profession were that way. 

By then it was time to go to the general store. Thankfully Hosea had the smarts to take an empty wagon so their purchases could be rode back to camp without taxing the horses too much. Arthur had joined him after securing both horses they had for sale to the back.

Harry didn't tell the men, but he planned to resupply the camp very well. After all, most of the food stuffs and materials the gang needed had been left behind in their mad race away from the Pinkertons. After seeing both his 'bodyguards' off to the saloon for a quick drink, he brought himself a decent wardrobe and some solid boots. Then he ordered enough supplies to last a good two weeks. He was surprised when the owner of the store, as a show of appreciation, asked for only twelves gold coins for everything. If it'd been muggle London in the modern day he would have been lucky to get half the order for three times the money. 

After his purchases were loaded into the wagon, which nearly sagged with the weight of it all, he decided to go to the gun shop. He perused the catalog slowly and with concentration to make his selection carefully. He walked out 20 coins lighter with two volcanic pistols, a rolling block rifle with all the attachments, a Springfield rifle with a proper scope, a varmint rifle, and a repeating shotgun. Not to mention a good gun belt and plenty of cleaning oil. He'd have to make a bow for himself, but got the best arrows he could buy. Hiding his long guns carefully in the back of the wagon, he quickly whispered and anti-theft charm on them. After all, he didn't want any to get stolen before he even got the chance to learn to use them. Luckily, the magically latched arm bracers that held his wands to his wrists were now well hidden by his new shirt. He knew he would be questioned about them one day, and he wasn't looking forward to it. But for now, they kept his true gifts a secret. He secured his pistols to his person with his new belt as best he could before going on his way.

He had a quick lunch with his two new friends in the saloon before they all made their way to their last destination with their horses. It was just fortunate they walked towards the Valentine stables at such an opportune time. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Herr Strauss talking 'business' with Thomas Downes. That unmistakable hacking cough of his couldn't be missed. Walking over with a brisk pace he pulled Leopold back from the man, his face a mask of stone. He acted like a concerned and angry stranger, hoping everyone would play along.

"Forgive me Sir for interrupting your business. I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. However, I'm afraid I must ask you to step back. This man, gentle-natured as he appears, is at this moment the most dangerous person you know. He certainly has no place talking to anyone, let alone being outside his house."

He kept a safe distance away from the coughing man as he spoke to him firmly. 

"Sir, I must insist you isolate yourself poste haste. Though I am only a recent graduate of London's Royal Crown Medical School, I have been a field medic for nearly two years now. I've heard that cough many a time on the rainy fields of England, Scotland, and Ireland respectively. That, plus your wasted appearance and weakened state point directly to a dangerous lung sickness called tuberculosis. It is also highly contagious, meaning that it can spread from one person to another through the very air we all breathe. You are putting not only this gentleman at risk, but the entire town. I suggest you get inside your home immediately before you cause a serious epidemic. People with such an advanced case as yours shouldn't even be out of bed. You are only causing your own death quicker."

He reached into his purse and pulled out another ten gallons, dropping them on the ground as far from himself as possible. 

"There, pick those up and take yourself as far South as you can. I would suggest stopping in with the Blackwater Doctor first before traveling through to Mexico. The hot, dry climate will do you some good and they have doctors there that can help treat your sickness properly. Just remember to cover your face with a mask when you talk to anyone. I wish you well on your travel's sir and please be careful of how you try to gain money. After all, a thief and a kind man look the same until they have a debt to collect. Best you find another way to garner funds in the future."

As they watched the sick man gather up the coins and walk away, Harry didn't even turn to Leopold as he spoke in quiet tones. 

"First, I need to stop at the stables to get my own saddle and materials for my horse. Strauss, wait for us outside the town, on the small hill with the two trees. Before we get back to camp I would like to have what is probably a long overdue word with you."

He didn't wait for a response as he walked forward, a stunned Arthur and a barely grinning Hosea following him at a slower pace with their own horses. 

\------------------------------------------

After getting a proper care package from the stable master, they made they're way to the wagon again, the two veteran gang members gasping in shock at the supplies. Harry simply shrugged it off. 

"I wanted to show Dutch and the others I can pull my weight. I can't do this all the time, mind you, but the camp needs supplies. Twenty people have a lot of requirements, so I figured I could help out. I heard Simon talking about how little food we have and figured this would ease everyone's mind. Plus there are some new clothes in there, some towels, soap and other supplies for daily care. As long as we don't use in excess, we should be able to hold out for about two weeks with all this. 

"Now please, don't get all sentimental on me. Just get the supplies back to camp and for the love of Mer....god, don't get yourselves caught by bandits. Also, my new rifles and shot guns are back there. Keep an eye on them for me if you would. I don't trust certain people to keep their hands to themselves. Now please excuse me. I have to have a word with Herr Strauss."

Arthur patted him on the shoulder before climbing onto the driver's bench to grab the reigns. Hosea looked at him with a amused expression before turning around to follow, but not without some parting words.

"Just don't kill the dumb weasel please. As much as I don't care for his brand of thievery, he has his uses in the gang like all the rest. Plus, killing a member of our family on the first day of joining is frowned upon, no matter how stupid he acts."

Harry chuckled to himself as he waved them off and lead his horse by new reigns over to where the pouting Leopold was waiting. 

"Herr Black....why did you...."

Harry growled low in his throat as he walked forward, backing the startled Austrian up against the tree behind him. 

"You dumb bloody arsehole. You almost got yourself killed for money that man clearly doesn't have. Any blind fool could tell that he was dirt poor. What in the world were you hoping to achieve trying to give him a loan he clearly would never be able to pay back? I get it...the poor are easy to steal from because they need money. But giving him money he needs knowing he wouldn't be able to return it in any way is....is fucking evil. Are you that much of slimy toad that this is how you think you can help?"

Leopold looked at him, gripping the loan book in both his arms as he barely stuttered out the answered.

"I don't understand. This is what I do. I have always done it. It's not my fault they can't pay back a loan I give them. It's their stupidity, Herr Black, not mine."

Harry's eyes blazed with rage as he spoke. 

"Be glad that it's Dutch that's your leader and not me, Mr. Strauss. You wouldn't even be alive right now if I had been your superior. You are over twice my age and I am smart enough to see your dirty dealings make absolutely no sense. Giving what little money the gang has to the poorest fool desperate enough to ask for it and then demanding he give it back is horrid. Would you give a starving child a chuck of bread only to demand he dig through his own shite three days later to give it back to you? Is that the kind of 'honest' thieving you do for the gang and hope no one figures out your stupidity? Look at you, a little dressing down and your about to piss yourself. Some 'brave' bandit you turned out to be. You're pathetic."

Harry paced back and forth before he reached back into his hip satchel, drawing out his wallet. Luckily, his magic has glamoured his modern muggle currency to match the times while he was in transit to the past. Taking out a hundred dollars, he pushed it into the shaken man's chest.

"This is what you are going to do. That money isn't yours to keep. You are going to get with me on my horse and we are going to go back to camp. I am going to watch you as you put every bill of it into Dutch's till box. If he asks, tell him you were able to finish off one or two deals without loans. Tell him no more or less. Once you are done, you are going to go to the nearest lake and tie a stone to that loan book before throwing it into said body of water. After that, you will start a new one. And before you choose any target you are going to sit down with Hosea and discuss your next business venture. If he approves, you can do your dirty work. If he doesn't, the name gets scratched out and you start all over again. Do you understand?"

Leopold nodded hastily, sweat dripping down his face like a waterfall as his fear consumed him. There was something frightening and otherworldly about those piercing green eyes boring into him. It was like looking at the glowing eyes of a mountain lion in the dark just before it ripped you throat out. 

Harry patted him gentle, his voice low and icy as he spoke again. 

"Good man. Because let me be perfectly clear. When I am happy I am your best friend. Cross me, betray me in anyway, or hurt innocents for no other reason then pure amusement, and I am your worst fucking nightmare come to life. It's like I told Mister Bell. I may be young, but I am also a highly trained elite soldier first and foremost. Do not make an enemy of me, Mr. Leopold Strauss. Keep your dealings clean from now on or I promise, they'll never find your body."

With those final parting words, they mounted the White Arabian, one too angry to speak while the other too scared to dare.

\---------------------------------------

After arriving back at Horseshoe overlook and tying up his horse, Harry made sure the shaken Austrian did exactly as he ordered him to. Nodded once to himself, Harry strolled through the nice spring air, seeing if there was anything he could do for the others that wouldn't tax his arm. But before he could try chopping wood with his one useful hand, Dutch walked up to him with a mysterious expression on his face. 

"So, Hosea and Arthur say you completely resupplied the camp for the next little while. Hosea was particularly clear on the fact that you didn't seem to want any acknowledgement or thanks for it. Poor Arthur looked like he wanted to scratch all the hair off his head in confusion. They aren't used to someone doing something so magnanimous just for the hell of it. Kindness is a rare thing in our line of work son. So if you're thanked more times than you want to be in the next few days, you have to forgive these poor, shocked fools their compliments."

He stopped talking for a moment to take a puff of his ever present cigar before he continued.

"Would you mind if I asked you to take a leisurely stroll down by the river not far from here. I think it's time you and I had a bit of a chat. I'm not mad at you by any means, but you've left me with a lot of questions. Questions I think need answering, if you would be willing."

Harry nearly refused, knowing Dutch was the type to needle someone until he got what he wanted from them. But the man was also a leader looking out for the safety and security of his people. Harry was an unknown right now; Someone Dutch had to make sure wasn't going to kill everyone as they slept. Even as congenial as Dumbledore was most days, not even he would allow an unknown into the Order without extensive research and many questions. 

"Alright. I don't see a problem with that. But if I choose not to answer something, you have to be willing to understand my reasons. It's never about a dangerous secret or betrayal with me. It's about it being too personal or painful to speak about."

Dutch nodded as they walk towards their horses and mounted up. They took the short ride down to a quiet shores of the Dakota river in relative silence, each man lost in his own thoughts. After hitching their horses to a near by tree, they started up a slow pace as Dutch thought of the proper words to use. He certainly didn't want to offend their new friend. After all, a defensive man was a silent one and that was the last thing he wanted. 

"You see, son, it's like this. Despite the fact that I barely know anything about you, what I do know leaves a tantalizing mystery that begs to be unraveled. You don't seem like a threat but in this rogue-ish business, one can never be sure where the threats may come from. Why, I've been at this so long that when some one shoots at me, I assume that's their way of saying hello, and quickly return the greeting in kind."

Harry chuckled at that before letting Dutch continue.

"That story you told me earlier was too brief to be the whole story. Your nightmares tell me you came from a rough past. With the scars the good reverend found on your back, I can't imagine your life being anything close to a fairy-tale. But there are things about you that just don't make sense. Like the fact that you were in a war no one even heard about. Or the fact that you have enough medical know how to accurately diagnose a dangerous sickness by just a few coughs and someone's appearance. To be as smart as you obviously are at such a young age takes more time then you've had on this earth Mister Potter-Black. If everything you've said is true, to have the knowledge you claimed to have would have meant learning in three places at once.

"Then there is the little detail you being up on that frozen mountain in the first place. You see, Charles Smith is something of an expert in tracking. Arthur, Micah, Javier and John were scouting as well. They knew the area well enough to find the O’Driscolls and Mrs. Adler. It's highly unlikely they would have missed a stranger camping in the snow. So I guess my first question is...

Dutch stopped and looked Harry dead in the eyes before he finished his question. 

"How on earth did you get where you were? You weren't at all prepared for cold weather. You had no coat, no boots, and no clothes other then what we found you in. If you had any food at all, it was too small an amount to take the trek up there in the first place. You also had no weapons. Being as smart as you appear to be, I can't figure how you would have been stupid enough to travel that far north without at least some winter supplies and some type of weapon. What kind of man carries enough money on him to buy what was in that wagon, but not bother to at least buy something to defend himself with. Except for the wolf wounds you had, you didn't have any other recent markings. That and your money being on you means you weren't captured by anyone and simply dropped off. So please tell me how on earth you ended up in the middle of no where so close to our camp. I mean, I could almost be forgiven for thinking you appeared out of thin air if the idea wasn't entirely impossible to consider in the first place."

Harry swallowed with difficulty as a nervous sweat began to form on his forehead and the base of his neck. He knew there was absolutely no way around the truth. But how was he going to explain it in a way that made any sense whatsoever? Finally, taking a deep breath, he unbuttoned his left arm cuff carefully and revealed one of his wand bracers. 

" I'm sure you noticed these on me by now. I imagine whoever patched me up probably tried to remove the one on my right arm and couldn't. That's because no one but me knows how. They are locked to my person with a specific password and can't be unlocked without it. But it's more then that. To understand how I got where I was, I need you to keep an open mind, Sir. I mean wide open. You think you can do that?"

"I will certainly try my best, Harry. And for the last time, call me Dutch. Every time you call me sir, it feels like you look at me as some sort of elderly professor or something. I'm not that old yet."

Harry took another deep breath before continuing. 

"The truth is, I ended up in the Grizzles by accident. That night you found me was the very first time I was ever in America. That is because what brought me there was a force of nature even I have difficulty controlling, for all I learned about it so far. You see, Dutch, I have a little thing called magic. It's inside of me. I can use it at will whenever I want, as long as I'm healthy and well rested. 

Dutch chuckled at the ridiculousness of such a notion.

"Magic....right....pull the other leg son. This one is too stuck in reality to try and believe that."

Harry held is left arm out in front of them to give the other man a clear view. Then moving his right arm as slowly as possible, he ran a finger down the side of the bracer and hissed a few words in parseltongue, watching it flash blue before popping open and falling to the ground. His wand was still secured to his arm by a holster, but it was now in clear view. 

But seeing Dutch's skeptical face still having doubts, he knew it wasn't enough. Looking around him carefully, he used his right hand carefully again to summon the water right from the lake. He used his left hand to weave it through the air, seeing the truth dawn in the other man's wide open eyes. 

"And where now do those legs stand, Dutch Van Der Linde?"

Dutch shook his head as he spoke nearly whisper quiet.

"God above, I must be dreaming. This is a dream. There is no way you could pull that water up into thin air with force of will alone. Pinch me please before I go insane enough to believe that actual magic exists."

A voice spoke, but it wasn't Harry's. It was Charles. He'd followed them, having heard Dutch's questions when Arthur and Hosea had come back. He had a feeling Harry might need to tell the truth. To be honest, he'd been curious too. 

"Oh, it's real Dutch. It's all too real. And keeping it a secret is so important, this man takes a greater risk showing you the truth then you would going into Blackwater right now."

Both men looked at him with shocked confusion. One from what he said while the other wondered how he knew about magic in the first place.

It was Dutch who spoke first as Harry released his magic and put his bracer back in place. 

"Charles, how...why...what..."

Charles raised a hand for silence with an gentle smile on his face. 

"My mother's people often spoke of a time when their tribe held powerful Shamans. Shamans so great they could use the earth's very essence and bend it to their will. Medicine men able to heal the sick by touching them. Warriors so strong, a thousand arrows couldn't hit them in the middle of an open field. Chiefs who could see war coming enough to run away, without rituals or fasting to help. My mother told me that these people called themselves a name in Lakota, but that it was lost long ago. However in English, these people are often now called Wizards for male, Witches for Female. 

"Unfortunately, most of these powerful magic users got killed as devil worshipers during the early days of the Washitchu invasion. My mother's blood line was said to come from one such person. A shaman way back in the 1600's sometime. But the family swore to hide their magic forever, so they would be kept alive. I was too young to remember everything she said, but I do remember her saying something about locking up their magic so it could never be used again. Since then, it was thought the gift was lost. But when I saw Harry pick up Micah so easily, I immediately knew. Somehow I could feel the energy in the air around him."

Charles turned to Harry when he spoke next.

"You were using magic to lift him in the air, weren't you?"

Harry nodded. 

"Yes. Though you are right about the danger. I am risking everything right now by just what little magic I did use. Non-magic folk aren't supposed to find out about it. With the Salem witch trails came the statute of secrecy. In it, it states clearly that magic use around regular people is forbidden. Luckily, I much too far away from home to be monitored for it. As long as just those in the camp that can be trusted to keep their mouths shut are the only ones we tell."

Dutch finally gathered up the voice enough to speak. 

"So ...are you saying that Magic stranded you on that mountain?"

Harry nodded. 

"Accidental magic. It happens sometimes when emotions run high and you lose control of it. Often times it's a small accident. Breaking a glass...lighting the curtains on fire...causing water pipes to burst. Something like that. But if someone, like me, is powerful enough, the magic becomes unpredictable. It begins to move with a will of it's own. It does stuff you didn't exactly think was possible in the first place."

He sighed, looking out at the water as he spoke. He let the truth pour out of him, keeping only his very personal secrets to himself. 

"What I said was true. I was in a war. A war between myself and a bad Wizard by the name of Thomas Marvolo Riddle. He was an extremely prejudice, you see. He wanted only pure-blooded wizards to be able to use magic. Anyone who had a mixture of non-magic blood in them he wanted to wipe out. But me he wanted to kill personally and tortuously. I won't get into the reasons why, but to him I was the ultimate mortal enemy. His gang, his believers, hunted me from one shore of England to the other. It started when I was a baby and he killed my parents. He was badly injured and I was hidden until I was Eleven. When I started magic school, he came out of the wood work and continued coming after me all over again. 

"For seven years he kept coming. It never ended. Friends, families, even strangers dropped like flies around him in his single-minded pursuit of me. Every year that passed got darker. I finally finished him off two years ago, and since then I've been hunting what was left of his followers. I've never had a true childhood to speak of. School had it's moments, sure, but his constant threat was like a dark, looming cloud over my life I couldn't forget. My fate was to finish him, and every time he killed, it felt like another knife in my heart. It was another person I couldn't save. Another life that was wasted because I didn't kill him in time. So after his death, I began to train to be a field medi-wizard. I still fought, but it wasn't in me to cause death anymore. I wanted to heal people. I just mastered the training course completely maybe a month before I showed up here. What took most people six years to complete took me a third of the time. Such was my drive to fix what he broke that I learned faster then I should have. My friends threatened to magic me into a coma several times because I wouldn't stop to rest or eat during my two year study. To be honest, I am still not completely recovered from the last year of study."

Dutch was silent for a long time before he asked the question again that began all this. 

"So how did you end up here exactly? You said magic brought you here by accident. But what I don't understand is why here?"

Harry sighed, picking up a few pebbles to toss in the water as he spoke. 

"Well to be honest, I don't know why it brought me to the exact moment it did, but the reason it brought me to you is something of a mistake on my part. You see, it was no accident that I arrived on your door step so to speak. I told you I was from England, and that isn't a lie. I was located in North London when my magic acted up. In my anger, I didn't think of what I was saying when my rage activated my magic."

Harry paused, trying to think of how to correctly word what he was going to say next. 

"I confess, I knew who you were before I got here. If fact, I know whats going to happen in the next few months. When I come from, you're life story is in a history book of sorts. And when I read the ending of your tale, suffice to say I didn't like what I read."

Charles blinked at he thought over what he just heard carefully. Then he found the one word in Harry's last words that didn't fit. 

"Wait...you said when you came from, not where. What does that...are you saying."

Harry nodded to confirm what both men knew was true but was nearly impossible to believe.

"Yes, you heard right. I'm not just from England; I'm from the future. And Dutch, if you aren't careful, more then one of your ragtag family is about to be in very real danger."

Dutch, who had been busy sipping rum to calm his whirling thoughts, looked down at the bottle in his hands and said the only clear words he could find in his mind.

"Charles, check your satchel please. If what he said is true, I think we're going to need a bigger bottle."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't forget to feed my muses. Starving muses die before they can come up with more ideas to give me. And if you would like, leave a comment on what you think should happen next chapter.


	4. The Words of the Wise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dutch pushes Harry into revealing things he didn't want to for the sake of proving a point. And as Harry grows closer to the gang, one or two members irk him to the point of distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Harry seems to be snapping at a lot of people in the beginning but there is a reason for that. One, he has to prove himself confident and tough. Otherwise his place will quickly be down at the bottom of the totem pole. Plus a dressing down of a couple members will go a long way in preventing disaster later down the line. It won't always be like this, I promise.  
> \--------------------

Harry gave a suffering sigh internally as Dutch questioned him yet again about the future months. He knew the man would be desperate to know when the truth was revealed about who he was and where he came from. The man had tried bribery, deception, kindness, and every other which way to get the answers out of the young wizard. But Harry had held firm to his ground, refusing to give away everything all for the sake of the leader's obsessive curiosity. 

But now it had been enough and Harry needed to put his foot down.

"You must tell me, Harry, please. I need to...."

Harry snapped, his eyes sparking with more then a little annoyance.

"You need nothing, Dutch. You think this is easy for me? You think I delight in keeping shite from you? I don't. What I know can save lives. The risk I take in not saying anything means that history can happen the way it did in the books. It was a terrible fate; certainly one I wouldn't wish on my enemy."

He turned his back as he looked out to the water, watching small rock bass and bluegill go after bugs on the surface of the river. 

"None of this is easy for me. It's never been. The soldier in me wants to do as ordered. It's all I've ever done. Follow commands and do what is necessary to protect people I care about. But following the rules of leadership have led to lives being lost. The sacrifice of one to save the many. I've watched life long friends die for nothing more then to prove they are brave. You want to know my secrets so badly? I'll tell you ones that'll make your head spin."

Facing the man again, he growled out his words, his eyes glowing with controlled, repressed magic.

"Voldemort was a wizard of unimaginable evil. He used the darkest and blackest of magics to ensure his survival. Spells so dark, they twist the natural order of things. It's no mistake his name means "Flight from death" in Latin. He learned a kind of spell that could split the very soul of a man into parts to be stored in whatever he may choose. In it's way, the enchantment prevents death. It is a kind of immortality, but at a terrible cost. To do this type of magic meant killing someone in sacrifice, something ole Tom relished all too well. Seven times he did this spell with vile success. But the last time he split his soul was an accident. It worked in a way he never intended."

He took a deep breath to calm himself before his determined eyes on both men.

"You see, magic is always a tricky business and that is no joke. Once you invoke such deep and bloody forces, they act like a runaway train you can't stop. The night he killed my parents, the spells he used to split his soul thought he was making another killing to ensure his survival. It ripped the little bit of himself he had left and chose instead a living target. When Voldemort raised his wand to kill me and my mother's loving sacrifice saved me, a bit of his soul buried itself inside me. For many years it laid dormant, unknown and undetected, by all but one man."

Harry swallowed as he forced himself to choke out one of the truths that would haunt him forever. 

"Albus Dumbledore was to me what you are to your gang. He was also the greatest wizard of our time. A true leader of the light. The general of a generation. But in his own fame and hubris, he became blind to all but the cursed chessboard he lived his life by. In his constant need to move everyone around like pawns to gain victory over the dark he stopped seeing his people as more then soldiers and shields to throw in front of the enemy.

"I didn't know it at first, but he was testing and training me from the day I stepped back into the magical world. He was the Headmaster of my school so it was easy for him. He wanted the perfect warrior, one who knew pain and would listen to orders without question. He portrayed himself my loving grandfather figure, deceiving me and hiding the truth. He knew one day I would have to die to make sure Tom Riddle would never come back again. So instead he raised me like a pig for slaughter. I was fed with his kindness and his caring, too blind, too young and too naive to see what he was doing."

Harry shook his head, trying to keep in long held back tears. 

" In his own way, he loved me. I am sure that he was pained in his acceptance of the truth. But it came at a much greater cost then he knew. Much too great."

Harry swallowed hard as he took off his shirt after looking around to make sure no one else was there to see them. He had taken to always wearing a kind of magical make-up to cover up the worst of his scars. Glamours drained your powers constantly so using it all the time was ill-advised. Instead the make-up potion he used was based more on covering particularly ugly areas. Reaching into his satchel he poured a counter-active potion on an old handkerchief, handing the clothe to Charles.

"Rub this between my shoulders and over my lower back. And prepare yourselves gentlemen. It isn't an easy sight."

Charles did as told, gently rubbing away what to him looked like some sort of thick, oily paste. Once he was done he stood back and cursed under his breath. Vile words were carved into the boy's tender flesh. What was even more terrible was the evidence that someone had burned the wounds after to keep the young man from bleeding out. The words 'bitch', 'freak' and 'bastard' were etched deep. But there was one word 'Faggot' that Charles didn't understand. Seeing the deeply embedded scars before him, he was almost too afraid to ask what it meant.

Dutch, on the other hand, hissed in repressed rage. His instant, protective caring of this strange man was a mystery, to be sure. But it was an unquestionable truth he simply accepted. He'd seen torture enough times to understand the magnitude of the scarred wounds he now saw. And to think he thought it was bad before. This was by far the worst case of beatings he'd ever seen. And that was saying something.

"Who did this to you, son? Did your leader...or was it this Voldymore character?"

Harry shook his head.

"Neither did this, and it's Voldemort."

"Then who...."

Harry closed his eyes painfully. 

"When my parents died, Albus thought the best place to go was with my Aunt and her family. Unfortunately they didn't like anything they deemed abnormal. If it didn't fit into their perfectly ordinary world, they sought to destroy it. So when I began showing any signs I was a magic user, they didn't take kindly to it. My Uncle was convinced that with enough wounds, enough reminders, he could take the magic out of me. If he couldn't couldn't beat it out of me, he would bleed it out of me. When that didn't work he tried Fu....ra..."

He shivered as his emotions overwelmed him. He hadn't planned on sharing this much, but his frustration had gotten the better of him and now it was too late. His deepest secret was out there for all too see. 

Dutch laid his hand on the shaking shoulder, wanting to hug the man.

"Easy son, it's alright. Take your time. You don't have to say it. We can guess. Your uncle was a sick bastard."

Harry remained silent, trying to gather himself up after such crushing truth. Putting his shirt back on, he swallowed his hurt down and buried it deep. He wasn't ready to share it yet. It was too soon. 

" Dumbledore never knew the full truth. But he knew I was abused. In his mind I suppose he thought it wasn't enough to warrant saving me from them. He was killing two birds with one stone. By the time I reached the school, he had what he wanted. A child starved of any happiness that would be easy to mold to his cause. A perfect soldier willing to sacrifice himself to the greater good to end a war. So what if I was starved and beaten? My pain was nothing to him when stacked against the salvation of the whole wizarding world. After all, I had to die anyway, so in the end he did what he needed to to get the results he wanted. Of course, I had to go and actually survive. And when I faced him after the final battle, all he could say was 'Good Job, my boy.'. He never said he was sorry. In his mind, I suppose, his gamble had paid off."

Harry turned to Dutch, his face etched with the pain of a million suppressed tears. 

"Dutch, you are a good leader. You love your bunch like a family. You have a good heart. But what I know could change that heart. Driven by the need to change everything to the way you want it, you could make everything worst. You dance with the devil when you meddle with time. As much as I wish I could just dump it all at your feet and let you handle it, I know that the cost could be way too high. Better to let events unfold one at a time and change what I can as we go. I will give you facts when the moment comes and we will work together for a better outcome. But right now, I have to see how each event plays out. My being here has already greatly altered the course of events."

Charles finally opened his mouth.

"How is that possible? You haven't been here that long."

"That man in town that Strauss was talking to. His name was Thomas Downes. I knew he had tuberculosis before I came here. Leopold gave him a loan and started an event I had to prevent immediately."

Dutch thought carefully over the words before he spoke.

"Someone got sick because of him, didn't they son? Who was it? Leopold has a habit of sending one of the men to collect the debts since he doesn't seem to have a violent bone in his body."

Harry blinked, one stray tear escaping his eyes as he spoke.

"In the history books, it was such a small event you hardly paid attention too. When Leopold sends Arthur to get the loan back, Thomas Downes is too sick to hardly stand more then one hit. It isn't until later, much later, that you begin to see the results of that one moment."

Dutch struggled to gulp down the truth that could have been. 

"How does....when does he...?"

Harry shook his head.

"He won't now. I stopped it from happening by preventing Strauss from completing his transaction. But in the original line of history, Arthur will later die of the self same sickness. He'll die on a mountain top, alone, with Pinkertons shooting at him. But by the time that happened, he was well and truly done. The sickness was suffocating him slowly anyway. His death by then is more of a relief then a burden."

Dutch went still for a moment before he let go of his usual composure and hugged the young man in front of him. His hold was gentle, but firm.

"Thank you, son. You don't know how much it means to me. Arthur is .....just thank you."

After they disengaged from each other, Harry spoke again.

"Trust me to do this the way I need to, Dutch. Trust that I know when to come to you for help. Trust that I will give you advice when you need it to prevent bad things from happening. You are the Leader here and I won't ever take that from you. But in this, you must have faith that I will lead you on the right path to prevent the terrible moments from coming to pass."

Dutch took a moment to roll it around in his head. 

"Alright, I'll leave this be for now. But you also have to be willing to come to us for help as well. Your life wasn't an easy one. Far from it in fact. That leaves a man with serious problems when he tries to keep it all to himself. I can still hear poor Bill screaming from the nightmares he got from the war. It took nearly a year before he would talk it out. Don't let yourself suffer alone."

As Harry gave him a nod, they walked back to the horses and Dutch climbed up onto the Count.

"Well I better get back to camp before someone gets drunk and burns it all down. Some of them become like unruly children when they think _'Daddy'_ isn't watching."

Harry chuckled at that truth and waved him off, but not without some parting words.

"Dutch..."

The man stopped and turned his horse enough to see Harry.

"For goodness sake, untie Keiran Duffy and let the man feed and clean himself. What he says is true. He's no more an actual O'Driscoll then you are a Pinkerton. I know where Colm is, and I'll take you there when it's time. Keiran is an innocent. Torturing the truth out him won't do you any good. You just have to be patient and wait it out. We'll bring him along when we go to their camp. Loyalty isn't won by starvation. You get more bees with honey then you do with vinegar."

Dutch tipped his hat in acceptance before trotting off towards camp, leaving Charles and Harry standing by themselves. A perfect opportunity for the question Charles had been dying to ask.

"Who else dies. I won't tell him or anyone else. But you'll need help. If the months ahead are as hard as you say , no one man should have to do it alone. And just by your tone of voice, I know Arthur isn't the only one."

Harry gulped, forcing his mouth to spit out the names.

"Sean, Keiran, Hosea, Lenny, Molly, and Miss Grimshaw in that order. By the time Keiran dies though, he and Mary-Beth were lovers. She, Karen, and the Reverend leave shortly after that. In the end, Javier, Bill, Dutch, and Micah are the only ones left. John, Abigail and Jack are fine for a while before Pinkertons find them. You...I am not too sure where you go after that. But it won't happen like that this time around. Not as long as I live and breath."

They both mounted their horses, one to go hunting, the other to go back to camp and rest. But just before Charles went his separate way, he put his horse along side Harry's and grabbed his left hand.

"I'm with you, brother. The others may take time. They don't 'see' as well as I do. But I know what I heard today. I see the reality of everything. When you need someone, call me. I'll be there. That's a promise."

Harry nodded and gave an oath of his own.

"A promise that works both ways, Charles. Friends are hard to come by when you are a man out of time and place. If you need me for anything I'll be there."

As their horses walked in opposite directions, Harry left him with some parting words.

"When the Rains Fall and the Eagle Flies, come to me. Don't forget."

Charles blinked at the strange message, but by the time he gathered his brains up enough to ask what it meant, Harry was gone.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As days passed, hi-jinks ensued. From his horse farting in his face during a tail brushing to the all out war between Twilah and Dutch, Harry's life was full of wackiness. Ever so slowly, members of the 20 strong crew began to let down their barriers around him. John, Arthur, Hosea and Lenny were the first to open up and trust him. John was a bit stand-offish and silent, but then He'd never been a talkative one to begin with. Harry remembered finding that slightly annoying when he played the game. So as his first week ended and his second began, he tried to engage John in any kind of conversation he could. 

Hosea was a wealth of wisdom. Like the wizened old man he was, he gave advice readily and without resistance. Harry had the feeling a lot of the gang didn't go to the man often enough. After being told the truth about who Harry really was, Hosea simply took it in stride after a little proof. He then began to school the young wizard whenever he had the time. From hunting advice to what it meant to be an outlaw; the old gunslinger was always ready with a kind word and a ready ear to listen. With as lost as he often felt, Harry used both as often as the man would let him. 

Arthur wasn't tight-lipped but nor was he a deep thinker most of the time. He berated the new recruit about his horrible shooting skills and asked often how he'd managed to live this long. So he was quite surprised when Harry showed him the deadly skills he acquired with knives. Though the wizard had little aptitude for shotguns, his accuracy with a blade in his hand gained him the respect of the roughened cowboy. Arthur chose not to go too hard with him until he healed up right, but promised harsher training as soon as the stitches were taken out. Dutch also shared their little secret with Arthur one night when the rest of the crew was dead asleep. Arthur was shocked, but after careful consideration just shrugged it off as something he may never fully understand. 

Lenny, being the youngest adult in the crew, became a ready confidant. Though he was only given the very barest of facts about Harry, he didn't let it slow their developing friendship. He often reminded Harry of Ron when it came to eating. He swore the man had five stomachs with how much food he could pack away without gaining an ounce of fat. Lenny laughed at the comparison and just continued to stuff his mouth. 

Slower to trust was Bill. He was suspicious of anyone new to the gang though, so Harry gave no thought to the man's constant eye-balling. But by day six, he was slowly starting to warm to the young man. Their history as war veterans gave them something to bond over. Between ptsd and nightmares, they were often the only restless people at night. Most times they said nothing as they shared a small drink around the fire. War wasn't an easy subject to talk about for anyone, never mind those who went through it and saw it's dark and terrible atrocities. 

Tilly, Karen, Sadie and Mary-Beth found him an intriguing mystery. With his English accent and his unknowable nature, they often giggled among themselves at the little theories and rumors they came up with to describe him. Miss Grimshaw on the other hand reminded him mostly of a cross between Minerva and Molly Weasely. Sassy, strict, and motherly all in the same tight-bunned package. She demanded she check his wounds and redress them at least twice a day to keep away infection. And for some reason she was always following him with some sort of food, be it an apple, a stick of salted pork, or a bowl of something Simon cooked. Harry grumbled at being told to eat all the time, but he was well used to it by now. After his neglectful past and his constant training both for the war and after, he often forgot to feed himself anyway. So someone getting after him for it meant eventually he'd become stronger and healthier. 

Uncle was just a lazy old man, so not much was said between them. Javier on the other hand was just a laid back and calm sort of fellow. They would talk about little things, like his history with the gang and what life was like in Mexico. Harry would trade a little of his childhood in London and happy moments in school. They never talked about deep matters at all, but they were comfortable allies. At the end of the day, that was enough for both of them. 

Harry felt Micah's eyes on him constantly, but he chose not to give the man the satisfaction of showing his angry discomfort. He knew who the man was and never let his mind forget the mess that was coming where Mr. Bell was concerned though. 

Leopold was another loose cannon, but with his new loan book in hand and Hosea on his arse, Harry saw the man finally earning some honest money. Usually by giving loans to rich poker players who could afford to pay him back with interest later. A much more lucrative method of usury then he'd ever had before. 

Molly O'Shea pissed Harry off immediately. The woman was constantly begging for Dutch's attention. Night and day she was screeching at him to focus on her. This day was no different. Molly was busy complaining to anyone who would listen that Dutch left her all alone again to go into town and that he was obviously cheating on her. Poor Arthur looked ready to strangle her good and proper. He'd been cleaning his newly acquired rifle when he looked for a moment like he was trying to snap it between both hands. After all, his wagon tent was right next to Dutch's set up, so he seemed to be the poor fool who always got a front row seat to her rants. 

Harry had been busy looking over his finally un-stitched wounds when her voice grated on his last nerves. He'd had enough. 

He stood up and walked over to the caterwauling woman, determined to set her straight.

"Miss O'Shea, would you mind if I had a word with you in private?"

Molly huffed. 

"Might as well, Laddy. Ain't no one else around who wants to talk to me."

They walked a distance away to a forested area near by. Finally Harry turned to the pissy Irish woman and spoke his mind.

"Look, I've been here for nearly two weeks now, and I've been hearing your constant disparagement of your supposed lover for near as long. You've never given it a rest."

"Well I'm so sorry I spoke against the Great and Mighty Mister Van Der Linde. You're like all the rest. So far up his arse you think he can do no wrong. You're too young to understand anyways."

Harry seethed inwardly, but with stern control he kept most of his anger out of his voice. 

"Maybe I don't know enough about love to see your problem. But what I do understand that you've been with Dutch long enough to be used to this lifestyle by now. You knew what sort of man he was from the very start. A Leader's job is never easy, especially with this many mouths to feed and bodies to cloth. His is the hardest job in this camp. Yet you seem to think his sole purpose in life is to pay constant attention to you. You do no work around camp and never leave enough to do anything useful outside it. He keeps you in nice clothes and a furred bed, so I really don't understand your issue with him."

Molly snapped at him, her ire getting the best of her.

"Oh, shut the fock up. You don't know anything. He pays hardly any attention to me at all."

Harry snapped right back, throwing off his calm facade. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry Miss O'Shea. Is there insufficient feathers in your pillow? Do you not get enough cuddles at night when he sleeps next to you and trusts you as he does few others in his life? Do you feel lonely because you ask for a good rogering every night and he gives in to your demands regardless of how tired he feels? What exactly are you missing in your life that he hasn't given you? A fancy night out to the theatre and a posh hotel perhaps? You know, because he isn't a wanted man with every Pinkerton from Blackwater to Saint Denis out looking for him. He can take you out and spend the money he doesn't have to treat you like a rich man's arm candy. Would that be enough to satisfy the poor, neglected little princess?"

A slap sounded out harshly as she left a red hand print against his face. But just as the hand raised to slap him again in anger, another reached out to stop it. It wasn't Harry's though, it was Hosea's.

"I think that's quite enough Molly."

"You're all a bunch of damned fools, the lot of yah. You don't see the man for what he really is. Too blind with focking loyalty to see how he'll drop you all when he grows tired of you one day too."

Hosea went to speak, but Harry beat him to it. He grabbed Molly's throat firm enough for her to feel the pressure, but not enough to cause any true harm. 

"Listen very carefully, my fine Miss O'Shea. Because that slap was the only you get for free. I don't hit women unless they truly ask for it by striking first. So in that respect you are lucky. It won't happen again, in that you can trust."

He fixed her with a dead eye stare and growled at her, his green eyes glowing with all the deadly intent of the unforgivable that resembled the same color when cast.

"You want to earn the man's attention, then stop being a bitch about it. You cling and you smother. You hardly let the man get a moment's peace and then wonder why he wants nothing to do with you. He isn't without faults, I'll grant you that. He has a lot on his plate and he has work that he needs to consider before he can take a second to pay attention to you with the five minutes he has left in his day to relax. Get it through your head that you aren't the most important thing in his life right now and make peace with that. Maybe if you actually do some work and put in the time like everyone else around here, you may even earn his respect. All you do is sit there and whinge at him. It's no wonder he doesn't want to spend time with you."

He let her go and turned his back to her, trying to gather up his emotional control before he spoke again.

"You have a decision to make, Molly. You can either accept the cards you've been dealt or leave the table to find another game that suits you more. But what I can promise you is this. Rich or poor, life isn't about constant attention and making kissy faces at each other. Life is hard and often unforgiving when you think the world should revolve around you. Out there in the real world, there are starving parents watching their babies die right before their very eyes. There are people out there dying of sickness no money or attention can solve. Life out there takes a proper lady like you and destroys her with extreme prejudice. There are a thousand evil bastards hiding in alleys right now just waiting for a sweet young thing like you to pass by. At least here in this gang, there are a steady supply of men with guns to keep you from such a fate. Be thankful for what you have being with Dutch. Many men wouldn't give two shits. I suggest you think on that the next time you open your mouth to complain."

They watched as Molly stomped away, both men shaking their heads.

"She's not going to last long with the gang if this continues, Hosea. A needy woman is a like a stick of dynamite thrown in a group of people waiting to blow. She's setting everyone on edge with that high-born attitude of hers. She needs to smarten up soon or Dutch is going to kick her out and leave her with nothing."

Hosea turned to him with a light smirk.

"Well, at least you gave her something to think about when her anger cools enough to let the thoughts make sense."

Harry snorted in amusement.

"One can only hope. I highly doubt it though. She seems too stuck in her ways to change much. I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

\-----------------------------------------------------------

As Harry laid down that night to sleep though, he didn't give a thought to the restless beast crawling around inside him. With all the training, talking, and integrating, he'd completely forgotten about the creature blood sparking fires inside his veins.

With the full moon no more then another two weeks away, The beast inside the man growled inside it's cage. It knew it's mates were finally close for the first time since it's birth. It wasn't content to simply sit still and be patient. Instincts drove it nearly to the surface several times already. 

So as Harry slept, his wild inheritance sat and planned. It was time for it to finally run free, away from judgement and bad magic. Time for it to hunt and kill it's prey as it was designed to do. Time to mark and mate as was it's calling. 

But for now it would be silent and wait for it's time to finally come.


	5. Inglorious truths and Final Straws.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finds out that everyone needs help once in a while. Arthur finds out not all forms of Death are glorious, and Dutch finally begins to open his eyes as Molly pushes him to his breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally fix the chapter problem after careful navigation of the FAQ page. I hope you like this chapter. I based it on the choices given to me. Thank you for all those who responded. And please read the beginning of the chapter again as there have been some changes.
> 
> \-----------------

For a full week, the gang put their heads together to figure out how to solve two problems. The first one was their missing member, Sean MacGuire. The second was the gold stuck in Blackwater. Much to Harry ever-growing frustration, Dutch seemed to dismiss every idea he came up with to retrieve both. It was completely infuriating. 

It was history repeating itself over and over again. Dumbledore had done nothing but push his ideas away. It was one excuse after another. "It's not the right time" or "You're not ready" or his favorite "Relax and let us take care of it." . Harry had been pelted with one lame response after another. Even when Albus and Severus had known he was more then capable of taking on the missions he wanted to complete, they still refused to let him actually do anything. It was absolutely maddening to constantly be told to wait when he knew people were in danger. 

He wasn't in the mood to let it happen again. It was time to prove himself a true member of this gang. Not with gifts of food nor gold coins, but with action. By accident or design, he'd been sent here by potent wish magic and he had no intention of letting that go to waste. He was tired of being pushed aside just because he was young. He could and would do this. Sean depended on it, the gang depended on it, and more importantly, his sanity depended on it. 

So he waited until he was sure almost everyone was asleep before he slipped out of his tent. He turned around to tie it closed magically before he tiptoed on bare feet to his horse. Boots and spurs in hand, he quickly packed his new horse with the supplies he'd need for an extended stay away from camp. Snow Feather, as he called her, nipped at his hair affectionately. Their bond grew daily as he groomed and fed the nearly two year old filly. Hushing her gently, he worked painstakingly to put her saddle on as quietly as he could. Now all he had to do was put on his boots, mount up and slip passed the men standing guard tonight. Bill would be easy, as he heard the man loudly snoring as he leaned against a tree. But Lenny and Arthur had also taken up guard post tonight, and they would be a lot harder. 

He nearly made it to the main road before he heard a horse come up behind him and a whispered voice spoke out in his direction.

"And just where do you reckon on goin' at this hour, Wiz kid?"

Harry huffed a sigh at being caught, hoping his poor lying skills actually worked for him this time.

"I couldn't really sleep so I thought I would get some practice hunting done. Figured it was better then looking at the top of my bloody tent again."

Luck, it seemed, was not with him. His ability to be deceitful was absolute shite. His face gave too much away.

"Right, hunting. In the dark, alone, with no one to help you. I know you have all that fancy hocus pocus, kid, but lets be honest here. You can't shoot the broad side of a barn with any gun you have on you at the moment. You have good knife skills, but not enough to hunt with. This is your fourth night of very little sleep. On top of that you barely ate anything at all yesterday, even with Miss Grimshaw following you around with a bowl. You also have some healin' to do with that arm of yours still. You know what I think..."

He leaned forward and looked Harry dead in the eyes. 

".... You should never play high stakes poker. You lie so bad, you'd lose before you even had a good hand. Now what's really goin' on? Why you really sneakin' out? Cause if you think I'm going to let you go alone anywhere right now, you're dumber then Uncle when he gets stone drunk."

Harry groaned mentally and dropped his head, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"I'm tired of being still. All I've done is sit in camp since Dutch let me join. Except for going in and out of Valentine to buy bullets and food, I never do anything. Bloody hell, he won't even let me take scout duty. Every plan I've made to help with Sean and Blackwater he shoots down. I'm just....I'm not a kid Arthur. But none of you will see that until I prove it."

"And the fact that you think going alone to do either just proves how young you are. I agree that going into the actual town of Blackwater alone might be the best idea we got right now. But tryin' to travel by yourself anywhere in your current state is just askin' t'be killed. And Sean is surrounded by one of the toughest packs of bounty hunters in these parts. Even with your fancy magic, you don't stand much of a chance without at least a two man team behind you. So for all your uptight, pissy attitude, the only place you're goin' alone is back t'bed."

Harry growled. 

"I wasn't asking your permission, Mr. Morgan. I'm going no matter what you say."

Arthur snatched the horses reins out of his hand.

"Not alone yer not. You ain't ready. Get that through yer thick skull !"

Harry gave up any pretense of being quiet now, his angry voice carrying back to camp. Luckily most of the inhabitants of the camp were too tired or too drunk to bother waking up. But Hosea, Dutch, and Charles were neither heavy drinkers or sleepers most of the time. The Wizard didn't bother to pay attention as his frustration hit a boiling point. 

" When will I be ready then? When there's nothing left to do? Great plan. Here's another. Go Fuck yourself."

Arthur chuckled sarcastically.

"Kid, I've done fucked myself many times. And I'll probably do it again real soon. Don't feel too good, but it teaches you something. Clears the mind so to speak. So your filthy mouth isn't doin' you any favors. You'll go when we say you go. That's how it is. The only reason Dutch is sayin no is because you want to go it by yourself. And I agree with him on that. Ain't no man can do dangerous shit like that by his lonesome. I've done some crazy stuff in my day, but even I'm smart enough to know better."

"So how would you do it then? Go in with guns blazing, shooting up bounty hunters left and right while the bloody Pinkertons gather around you? Is that the best plan? Or should we wait until Sean's neck snaps in the noose? Or how about when Dutch pulls his hair out in madness because everywhere you go, you get noticed and shot at? Or how about when all you can do is run from one location to another because you keep getting chased? You don't know what I know, Arthur...."

Tears blurred his eyes as his emotions, held back for so long, finally broke through bit by bit. 

"You don't know how it is when you watch innocent people die because you weren't fast enough. You don't know what it's like to see the only family you've ever known fall like dominoes around you because the one in charge says it's not the 'right time' to fight. The general says no and you listen, but it doesn't save anyone."

He nearly shook as he let words poor out of his mouth that he wanted to keep secret. He dismounted from Snow Feather, too afraid his emotions might get to her. She was already acting agitated 

"All I did was listen and wait. And it didn't stop the brutality. It didn't slow the death toll. It just made everything worst. I lay in bed at night as people I loved became a statistic. Names on paper to be called out in remembrance. Their screams of torture are what keeps me awake at night. The ones who died because I did as I was told to do. And it's not going to happen again. I won't let it."

Out of all the men who could have given comfort, it was Bill who spoke first, putting his big hand on the shaking shoulder. He'd been woken up by the loud voices. 

"I know how it is. Been there myself. Remember sittin' in the foxhole right next to a fella who got his arm shot clean off. Poor bastard was screaming so loud, I wanted to hit the field doctor working on him. That kind of pain is beyond anything I'll probably ever know. He was young, like you, but a good soldier. I wanted to go with him to the front lines, but the boss man said no and I didn't. Spent three nights angry with myself for listening. What I didn't know is that boy was the only survivor out of a hundred and fifty men who went to the front. If I'd've gone, I'd probably be dead too now."

"This is different though. It isn't war.Why won't you just let me go? I can....."

Now it was Hosea's turn to step in as he turned a nearly sobbing Harry towards him.

" Because Arthur's right. We said no because all the plans you came up with had you going by yourself. We've seen it happen before. We had a man in the gang a little before we picked up John. Samuel was a good thief, best I've seen so far. He could pick pocket the President right on the front lawn of that fancy house they have. But he wanted to go thieving by himself one day. Said it was time to try it alone. He barely made it back before the wound in his gut killed him."

Harry stuttered, trying to convince them even when he was too overwrought with tears to even try to go out by now.

"B-but I...he..."

Charles spoke this time.

"We've grown fond of you, little brother. And we know you can hold your own. A few others in camp may have their doubts, but we saw you with those wolves. You would have fought them even as they ripped you to death. That's the point to all this. We know what's out there. We've seen what the wilds can do to a man alone who only wants to prove his worth. The ground has been littered in the bones of Black, White and Native men who thought they could do it and failed. We don't want that for you."

Harry backed up from Hosea, his whole body jittering as he tried to swallow his emotions. Without thinking, he reached into his satchel for his ever present vial of calming potion. It was the only one he'd been able to spell to become always full no matter how much he drank. He mumbled to himself as he brought it out and went to uncork it. 

"I'll take a calming druaght. Extra strength. Keep the pain away. Calm the emotions and magic. You're powerful Harry and that means you have to be careful. Control your powers. Control Harry, always control. Swallow it down and it will all go away."

As he struggled to undo the cork with shaky hands, Dutch spoke quietly to the others. 

"Leave Bill and I to handle this. The rest of you make sure to keep the others at bay. You remember how it was when Bill had his episodes. Our boy's fixing to let down his walls and he doesn't need to stared at like a monkey in a zoo."

As the others went to follow orders, Bill reached out to stop Harry from drinking the now open tube.

"No. It don't help. Trust me on that. I did it with liquor for a long time. You think it works because it numbs the pain, but it will only make it worst. The Reverend is living proof of that. I have no idea what a 'calming draught' is, but I know what you're wantin' to do with it. It's like trying to seal a hole in a boat with rolled up news papers. Eventually the water is gonna burst through. Drinking it like this means you only gonna drown slower. It's a waste of time. You have to let that shit out of ya. It's like a sick stomach waitin to be emptied. You're not gonna get any better holding all that in. Vomit it out and you'll feel a world of difference. I had to learn that the hard way."

Harry shook his head as he tried feebly to throw off Bill's grip. 

"You don't understand. I have to be in control. I have to....I just...if I don't I burn the world around me. I can't explain...please just let me take care of this and I'll be all better."

Bill shook his head. It was like looking at himself years ago. He was right where Harry was now. Hosea and Dutch lost many nights of sleep talking him through his own demons, just like he was doing for the man child in front of him. 

"It ain't right and it don't work. I've been there. You have to trust me. Listen, Hosea told me something once. He said a soldier shouldn't cry but every man needs his tears once in a while. You're not a soldier right now. You wanna cry...then cry. No one here to judge you but the trees. I've been there too, Potter-Black. It's no fun and it hurts like getting your nails pulled off with a knife. But it's gotta be done."

Though he let Bill take the open potion from him for the moment, he turned away from the two men in front of him and struggled like a man possessed to gather up his emotions. With each hand clenched in a tight fist, he gritted his teeth against the overwhelming sadness and guilt in his heart. It wasn't time to let it out. It would never be time. To let himself be weak and vulnerable wasn't in his nature. It went against every bit of training his life had taught him. When he lost the ability to wrestle his demons, people got hurt. He'd forgotten that for a moment and Sirius had died. He'd vowed never to let it happen again after that. If he couldn't block it with potions, he'd wait until he was out of camp before he let out any kind of emotions. Better to deal with it alone when no one was near him. It was just safer that way.

Dutch watched as Harry's expression changed six different ways before all emotion shut down in the young man. He huffed and crossed his arms. This wouldn't do.

"Son, you shouldn't...."

Harry growled almost animalistically before he snapped angry eyes to the older man.

"Firstly, I am not your son or your boy. My parents are long dead. If you want to get literally, they haven't even been born yet. Second, the only people to call me 'boy' were my uncle and Albus. Neither of which were my favorite people. So please, stop calling me those names. They incite extreme dislike and they aren't doing you any favors in the trust department either."

He reached into his satchel, pulling out his journal. It was a enchanted book, filled with never-ending pages. He brought it to his lips, hissing some quiet parseltongue that sounded like nearly silent whispers. Then he took the book and shoved it into Dutch's chest. 

"Here. You are so bloody curious about me. Want to pick my brain whilst my heart bleeds. Read that. Fair warning though; The story within isn't pleasant. It's horrific and not for the weak of mind or stomach. You can't show it to anyone else other then Hosea though. Don't try. I'll know and so will the book."

Taking a deep breath, the Wizard shook his aggression off and spoke loud enough to be heard in camp.

"Arthur...."

"Yeah?"

"Get what provisions you need for a week and saddle up. Since I can't be trusted to go anywhere alone, I am inviting you to come with me. You were going out to rescue Micah by yourself anyway and I have to get out of camp before I devolve into a bloody match of fist-a-cuffs with the next one who sasses me. Don't worry about food so much. I can get us some from the town if we need it. I'll meet you in Valentine when you're ready to go. I have to pick up horse Supplies. Whoa betide the man who does not feed Snow Feather carrots after every ride."

Before urging his horse forward, Harry looked at Dutch one more time, his eyes fierce. 

"My school had a motto no one understood until they graduated. _'Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus'_ . It means 'Never tickle a Sleeping Dragon'. It's a powerful lesson. One that by the time you finish reading my life, you'll understand in full. You tickled that dragon Dutch. Now you have to deal with the burns."

With a whistle to call Twilah, Harry whispered in Snow Feather's ear for a second before sitting up. The mare, listening with infinite trust to her bonded rider, broke into a dead gallop and took them away from camp. 

The last thing Harry heard before he was gone was Bill's confused voice talking loudly to no one in particular. 

"Just what the fuck was that about?"

 

\------------------------------------------------------

After both men took baths in the local hotel and gathered any extra supplies they didn't have from camp, they set out with Harry taking the lead. Between memorizing the original game map and the map of America to know where everything was actually located, he knew all the roads. He wanted somewhere remote, isolated and temperate to camp for the days in would take them to save the Weasel from being hanged. Twilah was lying quietly on Snow Feather's head, taking the time to look around and enjoy the spring day. 

They'd been riding for two hours with nary a word between them when Arthur finally decided to open his mouth. He'd been hearing Harry mumble with frustration under his breath for the last fifteen minutes. It was time to have words with the man child. 

"What you talkin' to yerself so sternly about? You know it's a sign of insanity to argue with one's self."

Harry sighed and blinked once before answering. 

"I have to have your word it stays between you and I. Can you do that for me? I've been wrestling with it by myself since I got here. It's part of what's keeping me awake at night. It's a bloody difficult situation. And if you can keep your head and anger in check, I'll tell you."

Arthur shrugged. 

"As long as it doesn't betray the gang, I'll keep it to myself as long as I live. Now out with it."

Harry rubbed his face and gathered his thoughts before speaking. 

"Well, in a way, it's actually to keep the gang from being betrayed. We have a rat in the gang, Arthur."

Arthur growled and nearly pulled his revolver from it's holster.

"WHO?!"

"See, that's what I mean. You have to swallow down you rage with this, Arty. Can't give it away until the right time. It'll go all to bloody hell, with Dutch especially, if you don't bottle it up and keep it in the back of your mind until I say it's the right time."

Arthur gathered himself quietly, thinking over things in his head. Then taking a deep breath and letting it out, he nodded. 

"Alright, Wiz kid. First, never call me Arty again. Second, suppose I can do that, but only I like you enough to trust you know what yer doing. Who is it though. Who would be devious enough and stupid...."

Arthur paused for a moment before a rough growl of anger rolled in his chest. 

" _MICAH!_. Son of a Bitch is just that loud and vicious. I might as well've answered my own question before I asked it. I mean, Bill and Uncle can't keep a secret worth a shit, but they're too damn loyal to deliberately give the gang away. We should just leave the little bastard in jail. They're talking about having him swing. Why don't we just let them hang 'im and save ourselves the trouble."

Harry shook his head.

"First, Dutch's trust in the little ferret is too blind to let that slide and you know it. Micah saved his life once and that's all Dutch sees at the moment. He'll mark you as a traitor for letting that happen, no matter how much he loves you. Second, letting him swing is too fast a death for him. You have no idea how far he'll go to drive the gang to it's breaking point. And he'll win if we don't watch carefully. We have to keep it to the gang to get him to confess and then deal with him. There is a special place in hell for people like Micah, trust me on that."

"How bad does he get? What's coming?"

Harry swallowed as it all flashed across his mind, a single tear dripping down his face. He tried to keep Arthur from seeing, but he failed. 

"So it's like that. Shit. So how do we..."

"I don't know and that's the problem. I can't reveal my magic to him or every witch hunter from New York to California will be out for me. I can't beat the truth out of him, or Dutch will make me leave. And I can't exactly walk calmly up to the bastard and tell him to speak his secrets or else. Every plan I have seems to fall through and we're already on the clock. Between the botched ferry job and that train heist from Leviticus Cornwall, the Pinkertons gazes are locked on Dutch and the gang. The price on his head in Blackwater is ten thousand alone. Hell, you weren't even involved in the ferry job you managed to earn a five thousand dollar price tag by association."

"Five thousand dollars for me? Really? "

Harry nodded and he snorted and chuckled.

"Shit, can I turn myself in?"

Harry chuckled with him, glad for a break in the tension.

"Not sure that would be the best idea. What are you going to do with all that money while you're locked up in jail? Pay the guy who just gave you the bounty and beg him to let you go?"

Arthur laughed at the image that brought up before he contemplated the situation. 

"The price on Dutch's head is too large for the Pinkertons to give him up. To hear you say it though, this Cornwall fella is about to be trouble too."

"You have no idea how right you are. You see, Mr. Leviticus 'I own half the Americas' Cornwall has an endless supply of money at the moment. He also has his hands in every major company west of the Mississippi River. It is no skin off his nose to keep hiring Pinkertons until he's on his death bed. Between the prices the gang already has on their heads and the bounty he has out on you, every bounty hunter from east to west is out to strike it rich. Hell, all it would take is one lucky wanker and a weak moment to have the lot of you trussed up like a downed buck and dragged into any town. After that, it's a sudden drop and a short stop before you become faded footnotes in history. 

"We also have these two stooges of the Pinkerton detective agency, Milton and Ross, we have to watch out for. Even if you cut their money supply by killing Cornwall, Milton himself is relentless. I don't know what his personal vendetta is against the Van Der Linde gang is, but he wants you all six feet under. He's like a big game hunter just waiting for the least little weak point to get the shot in. And with Micah Bell, he'll get what he wants and then some. Ross becomes a problem much later, but that has more to do with John then with the rest of you."

Harry paused for a moment before continuing, taking a sip of his canteen.

"Dutch will be driven to madness. Between his blindness to Micah and the endless pursuit of Agent Milton, he slowly unravels. It's hard watching such a strong man lose himself. That and his constant plans that never work out the way he wants...it gets ugly Arthur. So ugly he...."

Harry shook his head, wondering why he hadn't stopped sooner. Arthur didn't need to know that much. It was Harry's Job to save them all. 

Arthur, for all his rough edges, was far from a stupid man. He knew the look of finality in Harry's eyes.

"Every man has a breakin' point I suppose. How's it happen then? Does he just swallow lead or something like that?"

"No. John actually is the one to find him in the end. But it goes bad, and he just jumps backwards off a cliff."

"And where am I in all this? Surely I'd never....."

Arthur stopped himself, swallowing like he was trying to down a bottle of sand.

"The only way I'd leave Dutch is because I'm not alive. So....when will it happen?"

Harry shook his head with grim determination.

"It won't. That's all you need to hear. Your fate was changed that day I went into town with you and Hosea. Trust me Arthur, you don't want to know. It's not pretty, the way you go. Seeing it once was enough. Don't make me have to see it again."

Though Arthur didn't push the answers out of him, it didn't stop the man from thinking of the events that day in town. Something had struck him funny about the way Harry had treated Strauss. No one else would have noticed minute flash of fear in Harry's eyes when he'd seen Leopold talking to that half dead stranger. He rolled the whole situation around in his head and cringed when the puzzle pieces fell into place.

"Tuberculosis? Really? Well Damn. I always figured that I'd get blown up, shot or hung. You know, go out proper like, the way any son of a bitch outlaw should. Instead I go out coughin myself to death. Just my fuckin luck. Thrust the little loan shark to accidentally send someone to his death all for a few extra bucks. Never did like his type of thieving truth be told."

They fell silent for a few minutes before Arthur spoke. 

"Look, Wiz kid, I'm actually glad you opened your mouth 'bout this to me. Carrying all that shit around by yerself...it just ain't healthy. It's no wonder you can't remember to eat and barely sleep most times. We'll figure something out. But I also think that you really have to share some of this with Dutch. Maybe not about Micah. That's a problem we'll have to chew on for a bit before we decide the right plan 'tween the two of us. But if the look on your face is anything to go on, I know our eventual loses in the future are more 'en just me. Just do me a favor when you do tell him."

"What's that then?"

"Don't tell him how he died the first time 'round. He'll slap the brains out of your skull for even suggestin such a stupid way to go. Dutch has always held the belief that a man dies either by old age or in a gun fight. Commitin suicide is a man's way of givin up according to him. And giving up isn't in Dutch Van Der Linde's vocabulary."

After a little more discussion and no solutions to be had at the moment, they again lapsed into silence. Sometimes it wasn't about words Sometimes it was a relative and relaxing quiet that bonded to people together as well. For right now, it was enough to take in the ambiance of the early afternoon and the temperate weather. 

What neither man knew was just how far that comfortably forming bond would cement with all the strength of steel on this five day long trip into the wilderness. Nor did they care at the moment. That's how it worked in this world. You didn't have to be constantly chattering or deeply thinking to get along all the time. Sometimes the silence was loud enough to speak a wealth of knowledge.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile at Camp, Dutch was deeply entrenched in the life history of the man who left this morning. What he'd discovered so far was enough to have him vomiting twice and already feeling a third time coming on. His iron constitution was stretched to it's limits as he tried to stop reading even as his eyes forced him to read on. It was like being forced to watch your buddy getting tortured. You wanted so badly to close your eyes and pretend it wasn't happening, but your ears wouldn't let you be in denial. He'd asked for this when he tried to push Harry to open up. Tickle a sleeping Dragon indeed. More like he pissed off a whole fucking cave full of the bastards. 

Molly was just getting warmed up for another day of complaining it seemed. Her voice was like needles in his brain lately. He just couldn't do anything to please her these days, no matter how hard he tried. 

"Oh, I see. So now a book is more important then me, is that it?"

"Not now woman. Can't you see I'm trying to read. Can I just have five minutes to focus on something other then your constant bitchin' at me."

"But Dutch...."

"NOT NOW WOMAN!"

She snarled and snatched the book out of his hand.

"What's so bleedin' great about this book anyway?"

He took it back from her before she had time to read the name on the cover. He remembered Harry's words and was determined to keep the Wizard's confidence and trust in him.

"Not that it's any of your business, my fine Miss O'Shay, but it's a book Mr. Potter-Black gave to me. It's something he wanted me to read to help the serious situation we find ourselves in. I'll thank you to keep your nose out of it and your hands to yourself. Is that clear?"

She huffed loudly and stomped away, but not before muttering a phrase to herself so quietly she didn't think Dutch would overhear.

"Fucking little twatty English bastard. Nasty mouthed young thing doesn't know when to keep his words to himself. Should've slapped him again."

Dutch's eyes burned into her retreating form as he stood up, put the book in his satchel, and followed after her. He caught up with her before she could reach her usual place by the river. Turning her a bit roughly to look at him, his anger stuck behind his teeth as he spoke.

"What was that, Molly. Did I hear you right? You slapped Harry?"

Her fiery, moss green eyes glared up at him as she spoke.

"He was speaking rudely t'me, so I lost my temper for a moment. It weren't no big deal."

"DID YOU OR DID YOU NOT HIT HIM, MOLLY?!"

"Your damn right I did. He has t'learn ta watch his mouth around a lady. In my opinion, he needs to be brought down a few pegs anyway. Stupid little boy doesn't know when to let off."

Dutch's whole body was as tense as a newly-built Crossbow loaded for very first time. And he wasn't the only one holding onto barely held rage. Charles, who had been lounging on a nearby tree, suddenly snapped up at the words he was hearing. 

"So let me get this straight. Instead of trying to come up with a peaciful way to solve an argument, you instead decided to use your hands to talk for you. Not only that, but you hit someone you knew for a fact was clearly abused in the past. You saw his body just like the rest of us Molly."

"Well he should have been a better gentleman and kept his thoughts to himself."

Dutch let her go, too afraid of the desire to break her neck in his rage. 

"Go pack your stuff. I want you out of here and on a train by night fall."

Molly's eyes filled with sudden panic.

"No Dutch. Please? I...."

Dutch's eyes burned into her with all the sudden fierceness of a man brought to his breaking point.

"For weeks now you've done nothing but complain. I give you pretty dresses, the best food, furs for clothes and bedding. Hell I even brought that damned music box with the little bit of money I had left after the ferry job. I could have brought a month's supply of canned food with what that cost me, but you just had to have your precious culture. I've put up with your constant demands for longer then any man should be asked to. Even now, after you've so wronged me, I am determined to see to it that you have enough money to go where you choose and a decent place to sleep. I'm sending you to New York by the end of the day. I'd send you to San Denis, but I don't trust you to keep your mouth shut."

"But why? It was only one slap."

Dutch shook his head.

"Only one slap you say? My god, woman, maybe the snow has stolen your brains. Let me tell you a little something about our new friend you didn't know."

Pacing back and forth to keep from strangling her, he took a deep breath and focused on his words. He had to say this carefully as to not give too much away.

"That 'boy' as you insist on calling him, has seen war already. By the tender age of 11, he likely knew more about life's cruelties then most full grown men. Generals in charge forced him into the arts of a warfare that would make even the most toughened men piss themselves. Not to mention that most of the scars you clearly saw with the rest of us were given before the age of nine. By the age of four he was cooking and cleaning the home he was in to escape getting his tender hands burned in a fire. That boy is more a man then most of the men sitting in this camp, and he's just barely passed the age most people reach adulthood.

"To make matters worse, you hit him unprovoked. I don't care what he said to you. You know the rules of this gang, Miss O'Shay. We don't strike at fellow members unless it's under extreme duress. Even Micah Bell knows that, and he's one of the more violent members of our crew. Yet you too it upon yourself to disregard this rules all to soothe your wounded pride. That's not how it works around here and you've always known that."

"But Dutch...."

"But Dutch nothing. It's always about someone else, isn't it Molly? You've done nothing but caterwaul at me since before Blackwater. I may not be the most loving of men, but I've tried my damnedest to make you as comfortable as I could. But Oh no, you can't focus on that can you? It's always " Why don't you, Dutch'. Why don't I....HOW ABOUT WHY DON'T YOU?! Everyone here does their share Miss O'Shay. Even little Jack helps clean the camp and even tried his hand at catching fish with me. Even a five year old boy has more a sense of responsibility then you do. You sit there doing nothing all day. You don't cook, clean, mend, sew, forage....NOTHING! Even Hosea, with as painfully sick as he is, goes out hunting and to pick up medicine plants for himself to ease the burdens of everyone else. Everyone does his or her share around here, except for you. If you can't pull your weight even a little...then this clearly isn't the life for you."

Molly began to plead with him, but this time he would have none of it. It was enough. She's pushed him too far. 

"If I were you, I wouldn't be wasting my time. And Molly, I wouldn't go to the Pinkerton's either. As soon as Harry gets back with Arthur we'll have moved camp. So if you even have an inkling of revenge, I'd leave it alone. You know what we do to people who squeal."

He turned a stone heart to her tears as he turned and walked away, determined to calm himself down before making sure she was ready for travel.

Hosea approached him in his little spot, a small clearing just outside camp.

"Dutch, are you sure you want to do this?"

Dutch closed his eyes painfully.

"I didn't want it to come to this, Hosea, but I can't do this anymore. She is dynamite looking for a place to go off and that's dangerous to have around camp, never mind outside of it."

"Alright then. I just wanted to make sure you weren't making a hasty decision based on anger. Those are never good ideas."

They fell into a tense silence, neither man in the mood for further words. Sometimes, no matter how hard you wanted to try, these things had a way of happening. A man's patience only had so far to stretch before he snapped, and Dutch had reached that limit. It was time to cut his loses and focus on more important things then pleasing a woman that was too greedy and too blind to know when to quit. There was just no room in his world for a person like Molly O'Shay. Dutch was just glad he'd seen that before it was too late and she did something bad enough to really hurt his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of rushed on getting rid of Molly, it's true. But to be honest she hardly had a place in my story to begin with. Plus she really annoyed me in the game, as I am sure you picked up on now. She may make a brief appearance later, but right now there are too many things up in the air for Harry to have to contend with her in camp. Micah is enough trouble.


	6. Life Lessons and Hidden Natures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tells Arthur one of his many secrets, teaches him about how to use power and then proceeds to to put the fear of god into him. A good chapter all around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muses are starving....please feed them. And thanks to all those fine readers who've given me kudos.
> 
> \----------------------------

After a full day of travel, both men found a good spot to camp. They finally dismounted their tired horses, shaking out stiff muscles from the long day of riding nearly non stop. Harry rubbed his sore ass, cringing as his glut muscles screamed at him. Long periods on a broom did not prepare him as well as he'd hoped. As he worked through the kinks, Snow Feather nudged him demandingly.

"Alright girl. No need to be pushy with me. You'll get your carrots. Just like a woman. Did the work and demanding compensation."

Arthur chuckled at how right that statement was. 

"Truer words have never been spoken. I've known two women in my life and they always want what you least have at the moment. Course, I don't claim t'be an expert by any means. What I understand about lady folk would be just enough to fill a thimble. Lost both my women for stupid reasons. I'm a hard bastard to get close to, I suppose. Been in the gang so long I no longer know anything outside it. Can't take any woman into this life without her understandin' how dangerous it is. The girls in camp all came from rough starts. To them, it's better bein' in the gang than being on their own. Though Mary-Beth is still a bit soft and full of romance, she can hold her own in a scrap if need be. And woe betide the man that tries to court Miss Grimshaw. That woman can scare the bejesus out of a raging, feral bear while it was charging at her."

Harry grinned at the truth of that last statement as he fed Snow Feather her customary three carrots.

"To be fair, I don't understand women much either. With the war going on, there wasn't much time for a love life. Even after it was over I was too wrapped up in my own future to give it much thought. Course, by the time I did get a moment to think, I realized I wasn't really all that interested to begin with."

"You tellin' me there's no woman you left behind? No pretty ladies just waitin' around for your handsome self?"

Harry snorted at the very idea.

"I had a total of one date with a girl. She spent most of it crying so it was highly uncomfortable. Now though, I am pretty sure I wouldn't be happy with any woman that would look my way."

Arthur looked at him with a sarcastic chuckle.

"Why? Thinkin' of joinin' the priest-hood or something?"

"Yes, because a magically inclined priest is just what the papacy needs. I'd be burned at the stake before the week was up. I doubt they would have me anyway, even if I wasn't a wizard. From what I understand, Christaindom looks down their noses at homosexuals."

Arthur rolled the word around in his head, looking at Harry confused.

"Homosexual? What in the world is that, some kind of slang term for a magic-user?"

"No Arthur. It means I am interested in my own sex. In other words, I am sexually attracted in men rather then women. And as far as I know, such people are no better liked by the pious now then they were in my time."

Arthur's eyes opened wide.

"Wait , you're sayin you are...."

Harry nodded.

"Yep. I am a lover of men. Was born that way, and have no inclinations to change it. I hope that's not a problem?"

Arthur immediately back peddled.

"No, no, no. To each his own is my motto. We don't talk about it in camp, but there are times when a man's needs don't really care where he sticks it, long as it's warm and inviting. Course you hear wild stories of people doin' unnatural acts with animals, but I think that's more desperation, stupidity and drunkenness that's involved. Like I said, with the gang, it's not really discussed. But we've caught each other sometimes here are there over the years. It gets lonely on the road, always moving from place to place."

He paused for a moment to take a quick pee behind a tree before he continued.

"Now, you have people like John, Hosea and Uncle who are complete ladies men. Charles, well, he keeps to himself. He don't tell and we don't ask. Micah is too crazy and mean to get anything he didn't pay for, and most people would rather slap him then sleep with him. The girls keep to themselves unless their tryin for information. Javier and Sean are real discrete about their nights outside the camp, but I've caught Sean out and about with a young man a time or two. As far as I know, Dutch has only taken women to bed, but he hasn't been the real lovin type since Colm killed his Annabelle. I don't know if he's ever thought about it much in recent years. To be honest though, I think the only reason he puts up with Molly is to keep from being alone at night. Bill I can never figure out, but the man has enough demons inside his head to be left alone."

Harry nodded through Arthur's assessment of the gang, having some idea of it himself. 

"And how about you? From what I've...read....you seem to be something of a ladies man yourself."

"Me? To be honest I don't think about it much these days. I am the gang gopher lately. I'm the one they come to when something needs to be retrieved. Money, debts, huntin'...all of that usually falls to me and sometimes John. But John has always been a bit slower on the gains then I have. I think he thinks too hard about what he's doin' sometimes and it gets him in more trouble. I've always been more about the action. Lately though, with all the chaos, I've had to rethink that method. Seems that too much action gets us into bigger and bigger messes. Didn't used to be that way."

Harry sighed at the truth.

"Please don't attack me for saying this. Dutch is getting too stressed lately and that makes a man sloppy. He wants to help all his people, but he thinks he can do it the way he's always done. More people add more burden and supplies run down quicker. So he's rushing his plans and not thinking of better ways. He's also as stubborn as a mule. Once he has an idea in his head, nothing seems to sway it. Now, that's fine if the plan is sound and leaves little to error. But his trust in certain members of the gang is making him deaf and blind to that which would save him from trouble. He no longer hears Hosea the way he should and because Micah is always trying to talk in his ear, he's stopped seeing the bigger picture. He's losing faith in the people most loyal to him and that isn't good."

"Ain't that the gawd-awful truth. I never did like that rat, even in the very beginning. He just rubbed me the wrong way. He wanted noise and madness and it always seemed to cause more danger then was needed. Now with that Ferry disaster, we have every Cop, Pinkerton and Bounty Hunter tryin' to strip our hides with bullets. It ain't right and it's mostly his fault. I still wish we didn't have t'go rescue the bastard. I say we should let them hang 'im. But with Dutch being such a trusting fool, you're right in sayin' we'd never get away with that."

Harry sighed again as he finished zipping up his pants, having found his own tree to go behind. After stripping his shirt to get off the sweat and dust of the day, he looked around the area and cracked his knuckles. It was time to show off a little. 

"Let's forget about the arsehole for now and see about setting up camp. I think it's time I show you just what Magic can really do."

"If you pull a rabbit out of your ass I swear I'll hit you in the head with the backside of my pistol."

Reaching into his hip satchel, Harry withdrew a tiny ornate dagger with a devilish smirk. It had cost a pretty penny to get a true runic dagger, but for all it could do, it was more then worth the cost. It was specifically designed to set up wards and create accommodations for those who found themselves out in the wilds. He'd procured it during the horcrux hunt to lighten their magic usage a little. Setting up wards took a lot of energy. When you were running around trying to escape a madman, you needed to preserve any amount of power you could. The Runic tracer, as it was called, helped you draw upon the very essence of nature itself to craft what you needed. Right now, it was a perfect way to help them set up a safe haven. At the very least it would keep wild animals and bandits away from the camp.

Bending down in the soil, Harry began to rapidly carve well known symbols into the dirt. It had taken Hermione nearly half a year to teach him this particular set of runes. It nearly drove them both insane to hear her spout the same lessons over and over again. But it'd paid off finally. He could do this in his sleep by now. Finishing the complete matrix he needed, he cleansed the tiny blade with a quick, silent spell and sliced into the palm of his left hand. Dripping blood into the center rune, he dispatched his phoenix feather wand and weaved it through the air in an complex pattern before slamming his bloody hand into the ground.

"SANCTUM TOTALIS ERECTO MAXIMA!"

The rune matrix lit up in a glowing jade green as the magic took hold. A blue flash stretched out from him and covered a large circular area of about 30 feet all the way around them in any direction. The sheild would keep them totally blinded and silenced to the outside world unless they were in mortal peril. Taking a deep breath, Harry stood up and shook himself off a little before wiping the dirt off his pants.

Arthur looked at him with a little bit of fearful awe before speaking quietly.

"Wha...What was that exactly? Some sort of light show?"

Harry snorted and shook his head.

"That 'light show' , as you call it, was a shielding spell of great power. It means that as long as we stay within 30 feet of this rune pattern here, we are safe from most dangers. Now I've never tried it with bullets, but it keeps any of the dangerous local wildlife or people from us. What you can't see is a 60 ft x 30 ft dome all around us at the moment. As long as you don't disturb the drawing in the dirt, we'll be safe as houses. Just be careful not to step here where the glowing symbols are and it'll keep us protected until we leave in the morning. Now to set up the rest of camp."

With a few quick spells, he had their sleeping bags unrolled, a fire pit set up waiting for wood to burn, and any cooking supplies they needed for the night. He tied both Horses to a tree and unsaddled them to let them rest for the night. Arthur's new mare was a bit snippy with him, but a quick apple in her mouth set her right. Transfiguring their two riding blankets, he made a good lean-to to keep out the slightly chilled wind. It was a clear night with not a cloud in sight, so Harry wasn't too worried about making them waterproof. The shield could do a lot, but acts of nature were an entirely different set of circumstances. He didn't want to shield them from that possibility unless he absolutely had no choice. It took more magic then he wanted to waste at the moment. Now all they needed was something to eat for the night and some dried logs to get the fire started. 

"Alright, how about you see what there is for us to eat and I'll go gather up some fire wood. Because you were in the area of the spell when it was cast, you won't loose the location. You could go all the way up to Canada and find your way back. A nifty side effect of the spell if you ask me."

Arthur stood there dumbfounded, unable to believe his eyes. 

"You just took a process that would have been an hour and done it in five minutes at most. How... what....why don't you use magic for everything?

"Because magic isn't limitless, Arthur. It takes practice, patience and restraint. I'm not a god. I can't summon and enchant everything to be how I like it all the time. It's why Witches and Wizards go to school just as their real powers start to develop as a teenager. It teaches us control and what our limitations are. But it also teaches us not to bend the natural order of things too much. Yes, magic can be handy in a fix...but it can also be dangerous and lethal if precaution isn't taken. And if I use it too much and drain all the magic inside me, it could very well kill me. It nearly did up on that mountain with those wolves. 

"I must always be careful of how much I expend at any given time. While I am on the high scale of what Magicals consider to be powerful, that doesn't give me the excuse to use it constantly. A Wizard or Witch who thinks magic can fix everything gets sloppy and complacent. I've seen what happens to those who get buried in their own hubris. They think they can stand on top of the world. Of course the higher they go, the further they have to fall. Most who forget themselves don't see that fall until it's too late. That will never be me. Trust me, you don't want to see what happens when I unleash my full scale of power. Like I said back at camp, when I lose control the world burns around me. I won't let that happen. Not now or ever."

"But I don't understand. Surely magic..."

Harry walked forward and pointed at the gun on the other man's hip.

"Think of my power like this gun on your hip. You are a great marksmen with your pistol, yes? It can save your life in duel or against an angry predator looking to eat you. In a bind, it can save a friend from powerful foes. But it also comes with a high cost. It can take the life of that same friend in a duel when drawn too soon against your enemy. It can cost an innocent their lives when aimed wrongly. It has the power to grant life, but also to take it. That power is much like my magic and it can be utterly devastating. Like me, you wouldn't pull your gun out just because you think it can grant you riches all the time. You understand that every time you draw it from your side, you must consider the consequences of that action. I have this same knowledge, and so I never use my magic wastefully. I must always consider the ramifications of what it can do every time I draw my wand or utter a spell."

As both men set out, one for wood and the other for prey, Arthur knew he'd learned something important this night. He'd never bothered to consider the real responsibility it was to own a weapon before. When Hosea and Dutch had taught him to shoot it had been the lesson of 'Shoot first or die'. He didn't kill for sport, but neither did he spend time thinking of the other person at the deadly end of his gun. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to rethink that method and come up with a better way. 

He grinned to himself as he focused on the task at hand. Sometimes the young taught the old. And maybe it was time to start thinking first and shooting later. 

Of course, teaching the rest of the gang was going to be a hell of a thing to accomplish.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------

With a skinned rabbit and raccoon slung over his shoulder, Arthur made it back into camp an hour later. He saw Harry with his face near buried in a map while the younger man stirred a pot of something that smelled mouth-watering. It certainly smelled better then anything Pearson ever had cooking in that stew pot he always used. 

"Well I don't know what you got cooking there, but it smells wonderful. I half expected to look around and find some fancy-to-do restaurant sprung up 'round us. Certainly looks better then anything Simon would've had us eatin' right about now."

Harry shrugged as he continued to peruse the map in front of him. 

"That's because our fine Mister Pearson has a habit of throwing in a little of everything and hoping for the best. It's the way of a trained military cook to not think on what he's cooking so long as its full of what keeps a man going. Now me, on the other hand, I learned to use spices and herbs to better the taste of the food. It's nothing spectacular by any means. A mixture of beans, carrots, celery, potatoes and some of my blend of herbs. When we add in the meat and let it sit for about fifteen minutes, that'll really give it a boost. Cooking is the first thing I learnt to master after walking. You had to learn quick when you grew up a servent to my uncle. He was a whale of a man and demanded the best. Well...enough about that. Please take the rabbit and cut it up into medium sized cubes if you could. The raccoon I'll save for the morning meal. A quick spell should keep it preserved until then."

As Arthur hung the rodent they weren't using and sliced up the other, he looked over Harry's shoulder to try and figure out what the man was working on.

"What's got your nose buried in the map so hard?"

Harry chewed slowly on a celery stalk before he swallowed and spoke.

"We are heading for the town of Strawberry to rescue the Arsehole. It's a town not to far from Blackwater. I'd say about a days ride at most. Javier will have already been camped there by the time we get to Strawberry because he left two days before us. My thinking is once we break Micah from Prison, we can send him off with Javier back to camp. Then we can wait until nightfall for me to sneak in and grab the money from the Church. It shouldn't be hard if I go under cover of darkness."

"Harry, you heard what Dutch said about..."

Harry huffed in annoyance and set his mouth into a hard line of determination. 

"Look, we all need that money. If we continue to wait, they'll eventually find it before us and we'll have no choice but to give it up. Also, I want to go when Micah has no clue. Let him think we are going to look into the situation with Sean. Ten to one odds if Micah finds out what we're really doing even a little bit, he'll warn every Pinkerton in West Elizabeth that we're coming. I don't want to give him time to do that. Also, by sending him off with Javier, who doesn't trust him anyway, we'll ensure he doesn't slip off to warn anyone we're trying to break Sean out. We'll send Javier back to camp with a message that we'll be a day late. By the time we're back in camp with the money, Micah will be under the watch of Charles and Hosea and we can mount up a proper team to rescue the Irish loudmouth. Besides, with that Money in his hand, Dutch will be to happy to yell at us for doing it in the first place."

Arthur sighed as he thought over the plan he'd just heard. It was pretty cut and dry with little risk to either of them. If it worked, the camp would be free of trouble for a long time. Finally conceeding, he nodded once and threw the cut meat into the pot.

"Fine. But you better be damn careful my friend. Get the money and get out. Don't even stop to take a piss. If you get shot, Dutch'll take the bullet out, have it put back in a shell and load it into his gun to shoot you all over again. You aren't wanted in any county yet and gods willing, that's how we hope t'keep it. If only we could get that prices off our own heads, we'd be living free."

Harry chuckled at the truth of Dutch's reaction as he stirred the meat and rubbed his chin.

"I'll be careful my friend. No worries about that. As for the price on your heads, I may have a way for us to save the gang too."

"How? I'm nearly as wanted as Dutch is."

Harry smirked. He wasn't the Son of a Marauder for nothing. What he had in mind, if successful, would even have ole' Padfoot green with envy.

"Here's my idea. In a couple weeks time, our fine Agent Milton is going to approach you about Dutch and offer you amnesty for giving away his location. What I have in mind is going to take a little work. You see, among my many magical items is something called Daught of Living Death. It's a highly effective potion I've been trained to take if I ever got caught by anyone who would try to torture me for answers. What it does is puts the body functions in suspended animation for 3 days. It means that to others, the body will appear dead. 

"We can this one of two ways. We can bring Dutch to them 'dead' and I can get the bounty money for him. By the time they bury him, we'll be waiting to dig him up. I have the antidote with me in case one of my friends ever had to give it to me. I also know it's perfectly safe for non-magicals to take as I've had to test it once to be certain. We can try it that way. 

"Or we can go with my second idea. Find a bad guy or Criminal who looks like Dutch, beat the shite out of him, shoot him in the chest and trick them into thinking I killed him and brought him in. After all, he's wanted dead or alive. Both plans need fine tuning, to be sure, but if we pull it off, they'll leave us alone. What they really want is Dutch Van Der Linde. Once we give him to them, they'll give up and leave the rest of us alone. If we can pull it off right, we'll be able to go where-ever we want in America and we won't have to worry about being shot at every time we enter a new town."

Arthur looked at him with stunned shock for the second time that night, utter amazement written all over his face.

"Where did you come from? Hell's school for deadly pranksters or something? Not even the smartest man I know could come up with two plans like those. You have to be some type of evil genius to think that all up inside your head."

Harry grinned.

"I come from a secret blood-line of devilish pranksters, it's true. And believe me, they've taught me well. As I said, I haven't worked out all the kinks quite yet. But with the right play of events, Dutch will be a dead man and the gang will be free of Pinkertons for a long while if not forever. Provided of course they keep they're faces covered and don't kick up a fuss anywhere."

"I better never piss you off, kid. You're scary enough when you're calm. I don't want to see what happens to the man who crosses you."

Harry raised a brow in his direction and Arthur could swear he saw a flash of fang that couldn't be real.

"Arthur, my good man, if ever comes the day when you should anger me truly, I only have one word of advice for you. Run....and don't look back. I'm mean when I want to get even and trust me, you'll never see it coming."

The older man shivered at the possibility. He didn't know what it was, but something told him Harry was deadly serious. Gods hoping he'd never see the day come when Harry made good on that promise.


	7. Hard Men and Harder Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micah gets saved from hanging with as little noise as possible. Then Harry's walls come tumbling down as the truth of being the Savior becomes too much to handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this has taken me so long to write. And please, if you like this chapter, comment that you'd like it to keep going. My muses took a massive blow recently and need the energy to get back up and do what only muses do best.  
> \-----------------------------------

They reached the outskirts of Strawberry just as Harry had timed it. It was a clear night and the moon and stars were clouded over with the storm that had recently come down from the mountains. Said clouds were just beginning to take over the sky, bringing lightning along with it in the distance. Mother Nature herself seemed to be aiding them in their shady endevour this night. The absolute darkness would make breaking anyone out of jail that much easier.

Harry grinned as he watched the man beside him squirm uncomfortably in the new attire, he'd let him borrow. Thanks to Hermione and her undetectable extension charms, he'd been able to store a couple of his favorite outfits to take on solo missions for the Ministry. One in particularly was like a cross between full ninja garb and a spider-man outfit. It was form-fitting enough to move like you had nothing on, but not so clingy that it acted like spandex.

Unfortunately for Arthur, it was a little too tight in areas men needed more room in.

"Are you sure we have to wear this, Potter-Black? I feel like my coin purse is split down the middle and other parts of me are visiting my fuckin' ass that have no business bein' there."

Harry laughed quietly and shook his head as he pulled the binoculars away from his face.

"Not my fault you have a fully-fledged boa-constrictor attached to you. Shuffle back a bit before standing up in the tree line. I almost have the head count down. I'll fix your problem in a moment."

After getting an accurate head count of all the people still awake in town, Harry himself shuffled back enough to be hidden from the eyes down below. Turning around, he lifted the arm of his outfit and donned his wand. With a carefully calculated movement, he slowly widened the proper areas of Arthur's fitted pants. He tried to hide his grin behind the mask, but his eyes gave him away.

"Yeah, yeah... go ahead and laugh it up. But you know a man needs his breathin' space."

Harry bit his lip and gave a sarcastic smirk.

"Breathing space....is that what they're calling it these days. In my time, they actually make underwear with pockets for your penis. Never looked right to me, but what do I know. Not to mention that some people are doing that kind of thing on purpose in my time.”

Arthur blinked in confusion.

“Doin' what on purpose again?” 

Harry snickered. 

“They're wearing pants that show your bits. Some of them are so tight they might as well be painted on for all they show. There are things you can't unsee once you've seen it. I have to wonder how anyone breaths in a pair of pants that constrictive

Arthur almost choked on his own tongue at the mere thought of it.

“You gotta be messin' with me...” 

Harry shook his own head, smirking at the shade of pinky red his older companion was turning. 

“Nope, and I haven’t even gotten into ass-less chaps yet.”

“Chap what now?”

“Chaps worn without any pants underneath. Some men and ladies wear them with tiny underwear. Some go naked under them too. Now that, I have to admit, still makes absolutely no sense to me. 

“Why would anyone want to do that?” 

“ For easy access, I suppose.” 

" Easy access? For what exactly? You show up to ride a horse like that, you're just askin' him t'bit you."

“Come on Arthur. Do I really have to spell it out for you. I know you're a man of few words most times but ever you aren't that dull.”

Arthur just grunted brows still furrowed. Then his eyes brightened and the look of utter disbelief on his face was priceless. Would that Harry had a camera.

"Oh my lord. Really? All that trouble for relations? Why, what are they worried about during the act that they'd need that kind of protection exactly? You know what, Wiz kid, I'm glad I weren't born in your time. Folk from the future sound like they've all done lost their minds."

Harry turned his back to Arthur to look back at Strawberry. But his lips twitch into a smile at the sound of Arthur still muttering under his breath behind him.

Finally the laughter died as Harry became serious and knelt down next to a clear patch of dirt. Using a quick spell, he lit a very small torch and used the other end of said stick to draw a very crude map of Strawberry. Gesturing to Arthur, he pointed to different locations.

"The Jail is here. The tricky part about getting to Micah is we must go in the front door. The prison cells are below ground level. We have to come around the back and come in from this side."

Pointing to the location and marking the path he'd have to take; he then pointed at Arthur and circled the house that held Micah's guns.

"Getting Micah to leave the town is going to be all but impossible to acheive without first getting his guns. They're held in trust by a man he calls Skinny. Before rescuing Micah, I'll cast a sleep spell over the house and give you the opportunity to sneak in and steal them back. Provided of course you remember what they look like."

Arthur snorted.

"I know that bastard's pistols blind, deaf, and dumb. He hardly goes anywhere without pulling them out. How am I getting in though? If you want to use the cover of darkness, sneaking in the front door won't be smart. It faces half the town."

"I'll make sure the way is clear through a back window. It'll be a squeeze because you're tall, but you can get in and out without waking anyone. The spell I'll work will give you only 10 minutes though, so you'll have to move fast. Otherwise you're going to have to be dead silent to get them, which will be hard if you're sneaking in."

Arthur nodded. Then he scratched his bearded face.

"We'll need an extra horse. I'd hate to steal one..."

"We won't. Micah's horse is tied up outside the welcome center. After I cast the sleep spell, I'll set it free and walk it around back until it's at the opposite side of town near the forest. That's where you'll be waiting with the other two horses and the guns. Lucky for us, Snow Feather and ...what did you name that biting mare of yours again?"

"I hadn't had time to much think of a name to call her yet. But with her coloring being so red, I'm thinking of calling her Appleseed. She likes her apples well enough after all."

Harry nodded.

"Right...well with Snow Feather and Appleseed being tied there already, it'll be easy to go out that way, stay off the road when we can and meet up with Javier in a day’s time. That's if I can keep Micah's bloody mouth shut."

"Why don't you just put him t'sleep too. I mean you're already gonna’ magic the sheriff and deputy, right?"

"Because it works with sound. The minute I try to pick him up or even levitate him he'll wake up. Plus, the less magic I use around the loudmouth the better. No, I'll probably gag him and tie his hands behind his back. We'll secure him to his horse with that rope we have left over from hunting and keep him like that until we're well away from Strawberry."

Both nodded at the carefully laid plan and stood up, each securing their hooded masks in place. Harry gave one last piece of advice before heading off.

"Let as few people see you as possible, stay in the dark, stay quiet, and get out quick. Give me about five minutes to work my spells and we'll meet by the horses."

Arthur gave one brief nod before watching Harry skitter off. Hopefully everything would go smoothly, and no one would get shot.

\------------------------------------------------------------------

In the end, breaking Micah out of Jail had been the easiest part of the plan. Getting him out of town was a lot harder. Even gagged and bound, the bastard made nearly enough noise to chance their discovery several times. Harry finally managed the secure the angry cowboy to his horse and get them far enough away from town before he spoke.

"Shut up, will you? You almost woke the town with your screaming mumbles. We rescued you and your bloody guns without getting caught or shot at. Be thankful for that much. I'm sorry for the rough exit, but I had to make sure you didn't give us away."

Micah continued the rage as Harry proceeded to get off his horse, take off his mask and carefully drag the older man from his own horse. As soon as Harry cut the bindings on his hands and mouth, he starts railing.

"Why the fuck did you have to tie me up for? I'd've been quiet if you asked. No reason for all the ropes and gags. You almost wrenched my arms out of their sockets yankin' me around like that."

"Well, maybe next time you'll learn to actually shut your mouth when I ask you, hmm?"

In that moment, Micah decided his pride had taken one too many blows recently. He'd had enough.Without warning, he doubled up his fist in complete hatred of the man before him, striking him in his face as hard as he could. 

Harry's face snapped to the side so fast his neck cracked audibly. But he didn't show an ounce of pain as he turned his head back around to glare at the evil snake of a man. Despite the blood now beginning to drip from his nose and mouth, he grinned harshly.

"Oh, owie. I'm sorry, was that suppose to hurt? Kind of itched a little to be honest. Like a bug bite."

Harry reached into his mouth and pulled out the severely loosened back molar that Micah's fist dislodged. Luckily it had been a tooth that he'd meant to get removed for a while but never seemed to find the time. A bone breaking hex had hit him in the face during the war, and although the jaw had been healed, the tooth had remained stubbornly loose and painful. Spitting out the blood in his mouth, he looked at the tooth in his hand and shook his head.

"I really hope you got a great sense of satisfaction from that, Mr. Bell. It'll be the only one you'll get for free. Meanwhile, I have a weapon that I'm sure will be far more painful for you then a hit to the face if it reaches the wrong hands."

He pulled out a group of what passed for official looking papers (in this time anyway) from his satchel. By the way Micah's eyes widened in almost panic, he knew what they were too. The older cowboy immediately tried to snatch the papers out of his hand, but he quickly danced out of the way.

"Ah, ah, ah, Micah. These will remain in my possession until such time as you prove yourself a better man. You are lucky I found these before they could be sent. I warn you though, that should you step another toe out of line and you continue to act the fool, these papers might accidentally find their way into Dutch's tent. I wonder what he'll do if he reads them. Me thinks it'll be very, very bad for you."

He made a show of shoving said papers into his clothes instead of his satchel. The war had made a group of warriors who rarely slept deeply. One touch to his person would wake him immediately. He then stepped up to Micah and glared at him an inch from his face.

"Now I dare you to go ahead and hit me again. Then we'll see what happens when you cross me. I told you once, Micah, and you didn't listen. Continue to do so, and they won't have time to hang you. There will be at least nineteen bullets in you before you have time to take your next breath."

He walked to the side of Micah and whispered in his ear.

"I'll be watching you at all times. Even when I'm not there, I have eyes all over camp who are more then aware of your two-faced nature. So, hear me clearly this time and really comprehend what I say for once. Continue to cause trouble and you'll be so very, very sorry. Your forked tongue has been dripping its poisoned filth in Dutch's ear unchecked for far too long. From now on, it had better stay in your mouth, or I'll cut it out along with your coal black heart. It'll be worth a bullet from Dutch's gun to watch you die. Death is no stranger to me. I do not fear it in the slightest. Some nights I almost pray for it. Can you say the same? I think not."

He stepped away from the frozen cowboy and slapped him on the back before speaking in a normal tone again.

"It's time we get moving. We must meet up with Javier near Blackwater to see what information he has on Sean. Just keep in mind what I said, friend. I don't sleep. You do. I can stay awake for nearly a month, you can't. And I'm not the only one now who knows you for what you really are. So, keep up front where I can see you and keep your trap closed. I'm in no mood for your empty threats right now. We have a job to do."

As they mounted up, Arthur looked curiously at Harry.

"What was all that about?"

Harry shook his head. It wasn't time to reveal the truth to Arthur. He'd shoot Micah for sure and they were still too close to Strawberry for that kind of noise.

"For now, accept that it's my secret to keep, mate. We must get going. I want to get to our check point as quickly as possible. I just...I'll tell you some day. But today is not that day."

Arthur nodded, though he wasn't at all satisfied. Whatever information was on those papers, it was enough to have the unflappable Micah Bell shaking in his boots and dead silent. But he trusted Harry to know what he was doing. So, for now, he'd let it rest and pray everything turned out alright.

\------------------------------------------------

Getting Micah to Javier was a lesson in the art of absolute self control. Between his constant attitude and his drive to cause as much trouble as possible, Harry had to wonder if getting eaten by a bear was a good enough excuse to give to Dutch. He wanted so badly to strangle the arsehole and leave him for the wolves. Travelling that should have taken half a day took nearly two. After he tried to hold a carriage up for no reason, Harry snapped. They had squared off fist to fist, something Harry himself hated doing as anything but last resort. But since Magic wasn't an option, he used the only weapon left to him. He was still sporting a black eye and a healing lip. Arthur got off with bruised knuckles. Micah fared the worst out of the three of them though. Two broken ribs and a nearly shattered hand. Hopefully it taught the mean bastard to keep his fists to himself. As good as evil little animal was at causing a ruckus, he couldn't street fight to save himself. Somehow Harry doubted the fool had learnt anything at all.

After that ordeal, sneaking in and out of Blackwater was as easy as falling asleep on a memory foam mattress spelled to your comfort. It took more power then Harry really wanted to use after nearly two weeks of as little as 24 hours of sleep altogether, but it had been well worth it. Not only had he gotten the money, stolen though it was, but at least two wagons out of three left behind filled with provisions. He'd left the rotten food behind and a couple of the ruined uncured furs, but he'd managed to save the rest.

With such a resounding success under his belt, his eyes were on the very last goal on his list. Like a siren song screaming from inside his heart, the feeling that he should save Sean was calling out to him. Though the loudmouth Irish chap was somewhat annoying, he was a good man at his core. He was apart of the family, as ramshackle as the 20 strong crew was. He didn't deserve to die. Harry had no way of knowing how much of the in-game’s history would play as wrote, but he wasn't willing to take a chance. He knew how Sean's rescue had gone the first time around. A hail of bullets and even more notice from the bounty hunters and the Pinkertons. They didn't need that with Leviticus' little stooges coming after them already.

Which is why he was currently fighting with Arthur now. He knew he'd have better luck pushing Hagrid's dead weight up a mountain with no magic, but the stubborn savior he was trained to be had to at lease try. He had to save every member of the gang from the terrible fate he knew would befall them if he did nothing.

Granted, screaming at Arthur wasn't exactly the best way to get the wizened outlaw to listen to him.

"Bloody damn it, Arthur!!! IF YOU WOULD JUST LISTEN..."

"I am listening! You've gone crazier than Uncle blind drunk! The bounty gang holding Sean are fifty-three members strong! Their leader, they call him Eagle Eye Gunther. He could shoot you right between the eyes 'fore you even know he's there. It's not happenin' kid. I let you get away with going into Blackwater cause I knew with your fancy magic stuff there was zero risk. But this...the answer is just as much of a NO now as it was when we left camp. That's all there is to it."

Harry growled in frustrated rage. Not that he was paying attention to it now but the closer it got to full moon, the harder it was getting to control his emotions at all.

"Then how about this. You go back to camp if you're so bloody scared. I'll get him on my own and let Dutch yell at me when we're both back safe."

"You really think I'd let you get away with that?"

"I'm a grown man with magical powers that you hardly understand. I don't see how you think you can stop me."

Arthur snorted. In some ways Harry reminded him of how he was with Dutch and Hosea back in the day. Always wanting to prove he had bigger balls then he actually did.

"You only think you're grown. See, Wiz kid, you have a lot of know how 'bout life. Ain't no one can say different 'bout it. But the problem is your whole life has been dominated by the wrong things. You seem to think it's on you to save the whole world. Not cause it's the right thing t'do or 'cause you want to. You have this idea in your head that it's all you're gonna’ be good for. People in your life, they did you wrong teachin’ you like they did. Folks too caught up in their own agendas to pay attention to how it destroys the ones around them. You know how to be a soldier. That's what you been trained for. An' that's fine if they give you a choice in it. You didn't have one. That's where it went wrong for you.

"People in charge, their eyes are always fixed on the bigger picture. Dutch is like that sometimes. He sees the goal ahead and sometimes he's too busy to see how it will affect the group. He's still thinking like he was when it was just him, Hosea, John and me. It was easier then, now there's more people...more family. And the burden is heavier on him. So, he pushes some of us in ways he shouldn't. He takes risks cause he's too afraid of watching us all die t'predict what those mistakes can cost us. With you here, I think maybe he can get back on track, but not if you run towards death like you're wantin' to do."

"Arthur please...just let me save him."

Arthur shook his head.

"I'm sorry Wiz kid, but I can't. You'd die out there. If you stopped to think beyond your own hero complex, you'd know that to. Even if I have to hog tie you and rope you to Appleseed to get you back to camp, I won't let you go. You'd have to kill me first. Something we both know isn't gonna’ happen. You're just gonna’ have to find the patience to wait, just like the rest of us, boy."

Hearing that dreaded phrase made Harry's world narrow to a near blind tunnel. It wasn't like with his uncle, where that word was said on the cusp of rage and a beating. It was Albus in his ear, saying it was safer to stay in when he knew his friends were out there somewhere dying. The self-imposed walls that held for years, since just after Cedric died, crumbled down to fine powder. Everything in him snapped as tears dripped down his angry face.

"This _BOY_ knows what it means when the time runs out. When there is no more time to wait. You think patience is going to save people?! You think this _BOY_ will just hide in the corner like he's told whilst the world bleeds around him?!"

He pushed Arthur, the air crackling around him as his magic began to go wild.

"You don't fucking get it, do you? I can't do it anymore. There is no more waiting for me. I know the cost of it. I was waiting on the ground while a boy only two years older than me was killed for no reason then just being there. I was forced to wait as the murdering bitch who struck down my godfather got away. I waited when the death tole grew higher and the rancid smell of burning bodies coated the air in black acrid smoke. As I sat there in safety. Always FUCKING WAITING!!!

"So go ahead call me a boy. Tell me I'm too young to do what I've been doing since the age of eleven. Ask me to give two bits worth a damn about patience. And I'll tell you why I can't watch another person die because someone else thinks I'm not grown enough to go into battle like everyone else."

He punched a tree with his magic so hard it went down with a spray of saw dust and splinters. He broke two fingers doing it, but better that then hitting the man before him again.

"I wasn't trained to be a soldier; that came later. I was trained to be something very different. Had to be the hero. The boy the FUCKING lived right? So, I was the second bloody coming of Christ to everyone. But to Dumbledore, who claimed to be my surrogate grandfather, I was one thing and one thing only. I was the weapon. The Savior. The Martyr. It was what I was trained for the minute he set eyes on me and I'd never be anything else. I would die for them. But his plan failed horribly, and he wasn't there to pay the price of his many mistakes. But that ticket finally came in and some one had to take it in his place.

"I had to pay.... with the blood of my friend. I paid with the horrific nightmares that rob peace from me even when I'm awake. Each scar you see on my skin is a price I had to pay because I was their savior and I had to be kept 'SAFE' until it was time for them to use me. Everything you see before you are because they couldn't fight their own bloody war. Bunch of grown adults too afraid to say the enemy's name let alone raise their own weapons to fight. Huddling in the corner waiting for their salvation to come to them. That's all I was. That's all I'll ever be."

Harry shook his head, curling in on himself as the suffering of the last 17 and 1/2 years since Voldemort killed his parents came down like a mountain on his shoulder.

"But you see, I was supposed to die. I knew it. They were supposed to live. That's what I was for. That's all...and it didn't work. They died anyway. Almost everyone I loved died around me and there was nothing I could do. I killed him, I won, and they were still dead. I can't do it again."

There was desperation in his eyes as past and present battled inside him for dominance.

"I have to save them all, don't you see Arthur. It's why I'm here. If I can keep them all from dying...I must do it right this time. I can't fail. I won't. You must let me go and save him. Please...don't make me watch as someone else dies again because I waited to long. I can't wait. I have to...."

As Harry went to blindly jump on Snow Feather, Arthur held him firm in the first hug the poor kid had probably seen in a very long time. It was like the hug Hosea had given him when he'd finally broken down and told the old cowboy about Isaac. It was the hug you gave to a man who'd seen too much and just couldn't swallow back the tears anymore. It reminded him of nights he'd seen Bill clutching Dutch in desperation as another demon chased him from sleep and the horrors of war boiled over too hard to hold back. In that moment, Arthur understood what it meant to be a true member of the family you chose regardless of the one you were born into. It reminded him of a saying he heard from somewhere he couldn't remember now. Where do the Strong go when they need to be weak.

"You ain't goin' Anywhere, Harry. You're stayin' right here with me and we're not movin' till you're done lettin' this out."

Harry shook his head even as he clutched Arthur so tight, he almost bruised his back.

"I can't break ...have to be strong...I have to be."

Arthur teared up, almost feeling the soul deep agony of the man in his arms as the quiet, icy words were spoken.

"Not now you don't. Right now, ain't no one here but me. It's a poison eatin’ at you. A sickness that won't let go 'till it's consumed everything you have left in you.You got a new family now, crazy as all of us are. We won't let that happen to you. I'll help suck the poison out of you. You've done enough being on your own for a lifetime. It don't have to be that way no more. You can stop an' rest now. We'll save Sean together. Don't you worry none about it. You just...be how you are. I won't judge. Boys may have to be strong to grow, but it takes a real grown man to cry when he needs ta. So, you go ahead and cry. Let the storm free, Wiz kid. I'll make sure the winds don't take yeh. My arms are strong enough to hold you through this mess. I promise."

So, their they sat, two men from two different times and two different worlds. Held together by the bonds of simple Compassion. It was enough.


End file.
